Alright! I'm real stoked for this chapter so let's dive right in!

Happy Reading!

The dark mansion is lit by a single chandelier. It seems almost mandatory that every big house is to be accompanied by a chandelier, it's how things go.

If you venture further into the house you would find hallways and doors and windows covered up by big, red curtains. A single room would hold an office. An office belonging to the second most dangerous man in the world, willing to give anything and everything up to be the first. You would find this man in his office and you would find him puffing on a big cigar. You would walk in and see everything kept dark, and you would figure it was because he liked it that way. You wouldn't know that it was because if he were to walk in daylight, his already scarred skin would blister and bubble. You wouldn't know he was a creature hidden in darkness in order to stay alive. And you wouldn't know that the scars his face holds tell a story of pure wickedness and betrayal.

You wouldn't know that this man, the man with the scars, was betrayed the most dangerous man in the world.

The Napoleon.

There, right there! Did you think of him? Do you know who he is? I saw it in your eyes, either that flicker of anger or excitement.

He's taken something from you, hasn't he?

Well, he's taken something from me, too.

We have something in common, now you see?

You want whatever you lost back, but you know it's gone. I know it, too.

I know it's gone, so why don't you join me? We can rid him together. We can get revenge on that very same man.

How can we find him when we don't know his face, you ask? Well, I've been the closest to him. I've seen his face. I know his emotions you think he doesn't have. But let me tell you, they're there. They're a burning rampage of emotions all wrapped up inside of him.

Emotions that if let free to roam, could destroy him.

Hm~. You've grown obsessed with that word, destroy. It's come over you like a tsunami of total chaos.

That's another thing we have in common, I love that word too.. I assure you, if we team up, he won't see another day.

Just like me. I will never see the day again, because he took it from me.

The Napoleon took my sight, and my skin, away from me.

That man I was referring to earlier? I'm sure you can already guess, that man is me.

Miguel Francessca, at your total service.

"Sir?" A woman stood at the doorway of The Boss's office. He put down his pen and frowned at her, obviously upset that she interrupted his work.

"What is it, Leslie?" He asked, with an irritated tone. He twirled his cigar in between his fingertips, unlit. The smell of the ashes from the previous cigar he had puffed still resonated within the air.

"Sir, the airport mission failed. We lost The Napoleon."

A thunderous boom echoed throughout the room as the man punched his desk, sending papers and an ash tray off the brown wooded surface.

Although the situations were high at stake, the man had a calm disposition and he got up from his big black chair that towered over the boss's tiny frame. Making his way to his red bookcase, he shuffled through book titles aimlessly, giving Leslie chills of what was to happen next.

She had heard of the calm before the storm but never had it felt so real.

"Leslie," his Latino voice was soothing and manipulative and she felt herself grow longing for him, "you know what happens when things fail. You know how that makes me feel."

She nodded her head vigorously. "Yessir, but it was not a total failure, I assure you."

"Hm?" The Boss took even steps closer and closer towards Leslie.

"Yessir. We found a woman."

His eyes flickered with pleasure and she suddenly felt herself grow jealous.

"That's wonderful! Where is she?"

"We don't have her right now, but she's very-"

"Well, what does that have to do with me?" His demeanor went back to his dark, mysterious self. He turned his back on her, continuing his expedition through books.

"It doesn't. It has to do with The Napoleon, sir."

The dark man slowly turned his head to face Leslie, and through the dark light, she could still see his sly smirk.

"Oh?"

"Yessir. We caught her with him on the airplane and the airport. She's the one who made us fail."

"No one made you fail, you three are just a bunch of screw-ups." He had snapped, making the woman silent.

"Yessir, but sir, this woman is special."

"How so?" He asked, not looking up from a selected book.

"The Napoleon cares about her. He said so himself."

The boss's book slammed shut. The Napoleon? Express feelings? It was not possible. The boss knew that the Napoleon had emotions but to an extent of caring for someone? It certainly was unheard of.

"This woman. Who is she?"

"We have men hacking into the airport security cameras. All we know is her first name, but that doesn't mean we still can't find her."

"Perfect, perfect. But don't think this does not change the fact you failed. If you hadn't, we could have avoided all this work." He slithered closer towards Leslie.

"Of course not. We still disappointed you, sir."

"Mhm, yes you did. And I'm very upset, but we might be able to break The Napoleon easier with this...leverage. So for that, I thank you."

Leslie blushed a bright red. Mr. Francesca never thanks anyone for anything.

"Oh, sir. You don't have to-"

"Do you not find my gratefulness pleasurable?"

"Oh, yes sir! I do, really."

"Good. I think I like thanking you, Leslie dear." A part of his slick back brown hair flopped in front of his forehead in a way that made her knees weak.

His hand brushed closer to her slender face as he looked into her eyes. When his rough fingers tucked her hair that was covering her bruise she had gotten from the fire extinguisher incident, she winced in pain. He pulled back immediately and looked at her curiously.

"What is this?" He asked about her bruise.

"Nothing, I...I..."

"Your skin...it is...bruised?"

"It's really nothing. It's small, it's fixable, it's nothing-"

"Your skin...your clear skin...it is ruined." The way his neck seemed to sway from underneath his head made Leslie uneasy and she began to panic.

"It's fine, I'm fine." She tried to coax him from being pushed over.

"Leslie...what a shame...your clear skin. You're supposed to be clean."

"I am clean- I-I'm clean-" her heartbeat hammered into her throat. She could already hear the voices in her head sing a sickly melody.

"Tsk tsk. I'd hope you'd be better than this."

"But you-you said you liked thanking me, I don't understand."

"Oh dear, did you think you weren't expendable?"

Leslie grew quiet as the small voices grew into a choir. Her nose began to bleed, and she massaged her temple.

"Hon, I really am sorry but you're no longer good. You've expired before your own date, and you are no longer good."

"I thought I was different..."

"Oh, you were. You've gotten the closest to success, but unfortunately, it was short-lived."

"What are you doing to me?" She whispered, crouched down now, her pencil skirt bunched up.

"It's a simple serum injected into all of the veins of your...sisters." A door opened in the middle of his speech and two men entered. "Take her away, dispose of her, and give me a clean one."

Leslie began to scream as the men grabbed hold of the arms that covered her ears.

Mr. Francessca turned his back as she yelled for him. The men dragged her out of the door as it was almost shut and her eyes flickered closed and in her last breath mumbled,

"I don't wanna go..."

Mr. Francessca had went back to his journal his private psychiatrist had prescribed him. Rubbing his scarred chin, he picked back up his ink pen and began to write, his hatred for The Napoleon seeped through every word as he recalled the events that led him here in the first place.

That fateful day when Miguel Francessca, the 2nd in Command to James Moriarty, had an idea, a naive idea.

"Hey, Moriarty." Miguel opened the door to the office of the facility.

"Oh, come on in, Miggy." Moriarty had said, as he opened it more. He always hated the nickname he was given, but everyone was given a nickname from Moriarty, it was tradition.

Stepping into the office, Miguel was able to fully take in the simplicity in his boss's office. Huge windows were in the back of his desk that showed the rocky bay outside and gave natural light to the room, eliminating the need for lamps during the day. Moriarty was standing in front of those windows, holding his hands behind his back in a black suit. His white washed walls almost made Miguel believe that anyone locked in this room empty would go insane, but maybe Moriarty liked it this way. He had learned never to question a lunatic the hard way.

There were shelves of books and trinkets, a TV, and basically everything you could expect in a multi-billionaire's office.

"You're potassium dichromate got here an hour ago." He had informed him. Moriarty nodded his head, pleasingly.

"Ah, wonderful! And where is it?" His head turned slightly to the side so Miguel could see just the outline of his nose and the dark sunglasses he had on.

"It's still in the delivery truck outside the facility."

"I can always count on you, Miggy, to get the job done." He snorted, and turned. A tiny 'whoosh' was somehow projected by the swish of his suit jacket.

"Follow me, sir." Miguel ordered and walked out of the office, Moriarty following coolly behind.

The hallways were all made clear to signal the boss was walking through. Different technicians, computer operators and small employees gathers around just to catch the silhouette of James Moriarty.

Several men in black tight muscle shirts and earpieces showed up behind the two of them as Miguel escorted him outside. The door was opened for then as the windy air bit at their noses and cheeks.

A huge semi was backed up, the back of it propped up to show crates and crates of it being carried to the garage that also had its door open. It was dumped into a huge cylinder that was labeled 'WARNING: HAZARDOUS' and steam rose up from the top. Miguel steered away as far as he could as he continued to lead Moriarty into the garage and up the steel staircase underneath a huge platform overlooking the cylinder.

"135 kilograms of potassium dichromate!" Moriarty exclaimed, with a twisted enthusiasm.

"Sir, may I ask why you need 135-?"

"No, you can't." He interrupted Miguel, a smirk forming on his lips. Miguel's face slumped, and he turned his back. He was growing tired of his boss's antics and deranged playful spirit. "Did you know that if mixed with distilled water it will become like an acid instead of a powder and boil to be up to 200 degrees Celsius?"

"That's cool, but why did you buy all this powder?" Miguel asked him, dismissing the unimportant fun fact. If it was possible, the smirk on Moriarty's face grew wider. Miguel was thankful his boss had his shades on so he would be spared of his cold eyes that always chilled Miguel to the bone.

"Watch." He ordered and made his way giddily to the edge of the platform. Miguel followed cautiously as Moriarty's head turned upward. As he looked up, he could see a huge bucket shape swinging overhead the cylinder of the powder.

Miguel immediately knew what it was. Distilled water. There was no way around it. The bucket suddenly dropped, down, down into the cylinder.

"What the hell-!" Miguel jumped back as a loud explosion was created by both the impact and the collision of the distilled water and the powder.

Moriarty turned to smile at Miguel who was still partially shielding himself behind his arms. He gave him a look like has expecting a certain reaction from him, but received nothing.

"Eh? Eh?" He edged Miguel on. Fully revealing himself, he shrugged.

"And what was that for?" Miguel countered. Moriarty's cheeky smile dropped ferociously.

"Fun. I'm bored." He slumped his shoulders and dangled his arm, helplessly. "Do you not like it? Was it not fun for you? Did you not appreciate it?"

"Of course I enjoyed almost getting my face melted." Miguel remarked sarcastically. Moriarty raised one of his dark eyebrows.

"I'm standing right on the edge of this balcony and I'm sure my face is still here. You know, this is why I don't take you anywhere anymore."

"You never did-"

"It was a joke, Miggy." Moriarty glared at the stupid man. "You were such a good partner. You used to be real fun and you got things done that needed to be, and I thank you for that. But...I don't know... you just seem like you can't catch up with me anymore. I don't think you are right for this anymore."

Miguel felt his heartbeat quicken, and launch towards his throat making it heard to form words.

"Wha-What do you mean?" He stammered as Moriarty began to pace around him. A deadly, and menacing pace. One foot cross in front of the other, almost like a dance he knew by heart. Which scared Miguel further.

"I mean what I mean. You're not cut out for this job. You had a good run, longer than anyone, but now...now not so much."

"Moriarty, come on...you're not saying what I think you are, are you?"

"Well, it depends." He stopped pacing, right behind his back. Miguel dared not the face and only turned his head slightly. "What do you think I'm saying?" Moriarty's playful tone was wavered by something unrecognizable. Almost like Miguel was seeing two different people take control of his body from just out of the corner of his eye.

"Are you...firing me?" The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. He couldn't think straight. Miguel turned around to face Moriarty, and saw the mad flashing in his eyes. Playful, cold, playful, cold.

"Quite literally...kind of. More like boiling you."

That was when Miguel saw it. How exactly close he was to the edge and only a simple shove was all it took for Miguel to go spiraling off the platform, flailing in the air for some kind of support before he hit the acid beneath him that was growing closer and closer.

"Toodles!" Moriarty called from where he was, safely up on the balcony. Miguel finally felt the impact of the sizzling liquid and the burning of his skin and tried to cry out but the acid closed in all around him and poured into his nose, mouth and even his ears. All he wanted was for it all to be over soon.

He should've known it wouldn't last forever but nothing hurt more than the betrayal of his friend.

Moriarty widened his eyes. "That was quicker than I though it would go. Good for you, ol' Miggy." He laughed to himself and walked down the steel staircase and out the door of the gigantic garage by himself. Two new bodyguards eventually reappearing as he got to his office once again.

His roll-y office chair was sitting at the door as he propelled himself into it and rolled all the way to his desk. Did he feel bad about Miguel? Sure, but he was more excited for what was to come.

Almost instantly, after setting up a game of chess he wanted to play with just himself, his phone rang, never leaving him a moment alone. People needing him to sign this, people complaining through what used to be Miguel. It was all too tiring. In exasperation, he rolled his eyes and picked it up, yelling into it, "What do you want!? I'm trying to play with myself!"

It only took him a second to realize his mistake and busted out laughing. "Oh don't worry, I'm only setting up chess." He continued to play around with the pieces set in front of him examining the King which he always had an eye out for.

His mood changed back to angry when he heard the other line had contained no noise. "Now what do you want?"

"Sir, there's a young man disrupting the work of others in the Board Room."

"What? How?"

"He's watching...pornography." Now that the line was clear, you could hear various noises that should never be repeated.

"Well, that's his therapy. Not mine." Moriarty spun once in his chair, the cord on the phone twisting around him, ready to hang up on the call. After all, who was he to judge? He had just pushed a living person into acid.

"Sir, he's projecting it up on the board."  The deep voice interrupted, a mono-tone sounding bass.

Moriarty snickered, and then laughed again.

"Sir? You are not mad?"

"As hell. But isn't everyone?" He smirked. "What's the man's name?"

"Um, I believe it's..." The other line paused for effect, "I believe it's Moran, Sebastian Moran."

"Bring him down here. I'd like a word with the man."

"Yes, sir." The other man concluded, and hearing the other line grow dead, Moriarty spun the other way to unravel himself from the wire of the phone.

Continuing to move all the chess pieces to their starting point, it didn't take long until a tall man in the rough custody of his trustee guards to come crashing into his office, screaming obscurities like,

"They liked it, you know!" And, "It was just a stupid prank!"

"You're right." Moriarty took this as his cue to shield his face somehow.

"What?" The man gasped out, clearing his throat and clasping his hands together in front of him. His blonde hair came out in tufts that signaled struggle. Fear, maybe? Moriarty got a kick of the idea.

"You are right." Moriarty repeated. "It was, indeed, a stupid prank. You should have put an airhorn ringtone on Ol' Man Squeaks Magee and watch him have a heart attack when you call him."

"But what if he actually gets a heart attack?"

"Bonus." Moriarty smirked, and began to turn back and forth on his seat.

"I would have done that if his phone wasn't locked." The man, Moran, fidgeted in his place.

"1, 2, 3, 4. Write it down, it might be hard to remember." Moriarty raised an eyebrow, still looking down at the board of chess pieces. Sebastian Moran laughed, a hint of nervousness poured out.

"Yes, well, I'll be sure to do so if I survive this and let you know his reaction." The man said with uneasy humor. Moriarty laughed and nodded his head.

"Do you play?" He asked, still not looking up at Moran.

"Um, chess? Yeah, a little." He admitted.

"How about a deal. You win, you live. You lose, you have to be my right hand man." Moriarty challenged him.

"What's the catch?" Moran asked suspiciously sitting down in a chair situated in front of Moriarty's desk.

"There is no catch. You win, you live. You lose, you get a promotion."

"But why? I disrupted your business."

"We just recently had an opening. Are you going to play?"

"What happens if I don't?"

"Ah, I see. You like to know all your options. Clever. But I'm sure you're clever enough to answer that for yourself."

Sebastian Moran nodded his head slowly. Anyone in this business knew what stepping out of line would mean certain death. He took a deep breath and moved his chair closer to the board that was on Moriarty's desk.

"Your first move, Moran."

Miguel to this day, had no idea how he made it out alive. He just awoke, and two men in all black surrounded him in a background of white. Sooner than later, there he was. The rival empire of James Moriarty and his many selves. Miguel Francessca knew about his condition. Every bad guy has one. He knew how to use his unnamed personalities against him.

He placed his pen back down on the table when a buzz at the door signaled someone outside.

He knew exactly who it was.

"Ah, welcome back!" He greeted the figure joyfully.

"Good to be back." A curly-headed strawberry blonde with big bright pink cheeks stepped into the room more. Her outfit was the same as before. A white blouse and black pencil skirt. And her eyes. The very same gold all of her sisters were created with.

"I'm sure you won't disappoint me again, Leslie."

"Of course not, sir. This woman, Greta, will be brought to you, if it takes all the new skins in the world."

"Good. Any news, by the way?"

"Of course, sir! Might as well bring something good with my introduction."

"'Atta girl." A smirk formed on Miguel's deformed face.

"Now if you'll follow me, Mr. Francessca. We have pictures."

"There's no need for formalities with you, call me Miguel." He winked at the woman, whose cheeks blushed a brighter pink.

"Oh, okay, Miguel."

"You know, I think I like your version much better than the other." He flirted.

"Thank you, Miguel. Follow me." She lead him down the hallways to a big computer room where screens and nerds of all sizes hunched over desks in the dark.

Video footage of the airport in New Mexico played on various screens. One big computer that was hanging on the front wall held a still-frame picture of a woman smiling at an old woman. Other screens showed videos of her sleeping on the shoulder of James Moriarty, her in line at a Cinnabun and of the woman in her various successful attempts of sabotaging our mission.

Miguel leaned on a desk where a shaking coworker was tapping on his keyboard ferociously.

"She's very average looking. For Moriarty, I expected a 120 pound super-model, not a 150 pound small town girl."

"I think she's really pretty." The IT worked chimed in from his work. Miguel raised an eyebrow and shoved the man's head into his keyboard.

"I didn't ask you." He turned to the new Leslie. "Have you found her full name."

"Sure did, wouldn't bother you if I hadn't." She said, her chin high in the air, confident in the fact that she had pleased her boss.

"That's my woman."

"It took a lot of work, a few hours and deep research, and we finally found it. You wouldn't believe how many drivers licenses we looked through to find a match. Luckily, we found one located in Salt Lake City, Utah."

The look on Miguel's face went from cheery to completely wicked at the mention of getting his way. The man beside him was rubbing his keyboard branded face.

"Go on..." Miguel urged.

"Her name is Greta Barbara Levine. She's 27 and lives in Oral Roberts Street by highway 56." Once Leslie's mouth opened, she couldn't stop until Miguel silenced her.

"Wonderful. Just wonderful." A laugh escape his lips, a laugh that haunted the entire room. He knew who she was. He knew exactly what to do.

He knew exactly how to break James Moriarty. Every single one of him.

And he'd start with her. Greta Levine.

AN: Yeah! I apologize for this taking a while to write, I just had a bit of a road block. I'll try and get the next chapter out next week!

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And I'll see ya'll in the next chapter! Toodles!