Hi there all. I have just become a fan of V for Vendetta (I know, where have I been hiding?). And, of course, after watching it numerous times, I let my imagination run away with me. Thus, this story was born.

Before I get on with the story, I want to apologise in case I make V seem out of character at any point. I'm not exceptionally good at writing a character such as his, but I'll give it my best shot. Just let me know how I do. Also, I know it may seem a little strange for him to have an accomplice, other than Evey, but like I said, I let my imagination run away with me. Please don't be angry with me! Oh, and don't worry, I haven't forgotten about Evey, she'll come in a little later in the story. I really hope you all like it and I don't get shouted at too much! Oh, finally, this is based on more on the movie than the GN, ok? Just to clear it up.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with V for Vendetta, whether it be the graphic novel or the movie. I only own Ellie/Mime and her foster parents.

Summary: A young runaway is taken in by V, who steadily becomes the father figure she has always needed. This is her story, the story of Mime.

....................changes in place

Flashback

'Thoughts'

"Reading"

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Chapter 1

The torrential downpour was steadily getting worse, the streets reflecting the electric light of the lamps above them, the lamplight itself looking like a halo. Somewhere in the distance thunder rumbled to an angry crescendo as the storm set in. Not that it stopped her. A limping form moved as quickly as it could down the streets, trying to keep out of sight of anyone. It was five past eleven. Somewhere above the noise of the storm, a loud speaker announced the curfew, that none should be out at that time. Not that anyone in their right mind would be in this. But she had nowhere to go.

Ten year old Ellie Sheridan was a runaway. Her parents had died in custody, she herself being placed in the Juvenile Reclamation Project. That's where she had been picked out, taken in by a couple, hoping that it would be the end of her problems. But it was just the beginning. Her new father was a Fingerman; her new mother was blind to the problems. He was a brute, a sadistic bully who thought nothing of taking his anger out on her young body. And his wife just didn't seem to care whether she ate or not, whether she had clean clothing or not, or whether she was in pain. She neglected the girl, and he beat her. For three long and painful years, she was the punching bag, the stress-reliever, nothing but a toy. This night had been particularly bad. Something had ticked him off, and she was caught in the eye of the storm, with nowhere to run. He'd said it was her fault, her fault that his family had problems. Because she wasn't a 'full-blooded English citizen'. Something had been found out about him, and he was at risk of losing his job. Something to do with her. He knew that he would be investigated. And he had warned her, told her something that no child should be told.

"Tell anyone about this, and you'll be sorry. In fact, never speak again. No one wants to hear that bloody half Frenchy accent of yours. You say anything, and I'll cut out your tongue. Got it?" he said. And, to make sure his point had gotten across he picked up a knife, sticking the blade in her mouth, lifting her tongue with the blunt end as he held her down. She sobbed in fear, getting quieter and quieter, until there was no sound at all.

"Good girl. Now stay like that, you hear? Make a sound, ever, and I'll do right on my promise." Pulling the knife out of her mouth, he struck her hard, winding her. The truncheon next, striking wherever it could. But she didn't cry out. She didn't scream, and she didn't yell. Not one sound escaped her lips. With a smirk, he left her. She waited, waited for the pain to settle, waited for the sound to fade. With a struggle, she pushed herself up, wincing. But she didn't cry out. She looked at her belongings, what little there were. She decided her locket, hung around her neck, was all she wanted to take with her, was all she needed. The one that contained the photos of her real family, the one's she'd seen black-bagged, dragged away from her, never to be seen again. He'd made sure he told her that her parents were dead, told her all the details, told her everything, smirking all the time.

That had been the last straw. She couldn't take it anymore. She'd already decided on two options, die or run. If she died, he would win, if she ran, he would win. No matter which way she looked at it, he would see her as a coward. And that's how she felt. She felt that she was a coward, running from the problem instead of confronting it. No, she wasn't a coward, she was merely surviving. They wouldn't miss her. That she knew. She hobbled down an alley, stopping momentarily to get her bearings. She couldn't read the street sign, the rain water getting into her eyes, her jaw-length blonde hair sticking to her forehead and cheeks. She shivered, feeling like she was being watched. She limped on, hugging her arms around her. Why hadn't she thought to bring a coat? She shivered, freezing. Finally finding a corner that seemed a little drier, though it was filled with trash, Ellie collapsed, curling as far into a ball as her injuries would allow. Hugging her knees, she silently cried.

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The sound of the thunder drowned his footsteps, the dark night covering him enough so that he wouldn't be seen from the streets below. Not that it mattered. He could take out anyone that tried to apprehend him in the blink of an eye, with very little noise or mess. Besides, no one would be out in this. All they would see of him would be the steel of his knives and the white of his mask, a stark contrast to the black attire he wore. Lightning flashed, momentarily silhouetting his strong, solid form. He stopped above a cross roads, marking where the cameras were, where the wires for the loud speakers led, noting down everything of importance. He stopped, suddenly alert. He heard something. Even over the rain, he'd heard it. A gasp, one of pain and fear. Looking down into an alley way, he picked out a girl curled up between rubbish and rags. He followed where she seemed to be looking. A small group of men. He tracked their progress for a while, waiting to see if they had spotted her as easily as he had. His suspicions were confirmed when they began approaching her. He decided to act.

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Had she fallen asleep? No, it was still night, and she was still in the same spot. But something was different. She was no longer alone. Looking up, she spotted them. Four men nearby. What were they doing out after curfew? They couldn't be...she shifted, gasping when she twisted her ankle. The gasp of pain turned into one of fear as they turned towards her. Even through the torrential rain, she could see there sick smirks.

"Look what we got here, gents. A little rat out in the streets," one said.

"Ain't she that brat Mitchell took in?"

"Hey, yeah, you're right! We should take her back. He'd be happy to see her again. Wouldn't he darlin'?" They smiled, advancing on her. She shuffled back, the adrenaline making her forget her injuries, forget the pain. Not that she could get very far. She was already pressed against the wall. She recognised them; they were her fosterer's colleagues. They knew her; they would take her back to him, back to the hell she had just escaped. He'd kill her for sure! She wanted to sob, she wanted to cry out, but she knew she couldn't, too afraid of his threat, afraid of more pain, but not afraid of death. If they killed her, it would be a blessing. She would be with her parents again. However, fate, it seemed, had different plans. She covered her face as they got closer, hoping to be able to slip into the world she had created inside her mind for moments just as this, where she could be happy and free from the pain, until it brought her back. She became aware of another presence; another, unfamiliar voice. She looked up when she heard them shout, just in time to see the cold flash of steel sink into the leader of the group. It all happened so fast. Ellie watched as someone dressed all in black with a white, smiling face fought off the men. She watched, frightened and yet in awe as he swung and danced a deadly waltz with them, each falling with a thud to the ground, the music of his blades ringing through the air. The last one ran for all he was worth, probably to raise the alarm. The stranger chased him down, and Ellie became very aware of the muffled scream, followed by a deadly silence. She looked around, shock and fear shining in her eyes. She hissed as she tried to move. She'd been there to long, her joints were stiff. She jumped as the man appeared again. He was walking towards her, slowly, as if not to startle her. She hugged her knees to her once again, just in case. He knelt down to her level. There was something strangely calming about his presence, something strong, something that she liked. He wasn't going to hurt her; he had disposed of those who would. He seemed to be looking her over. She was startled when he spoke.

"Don't be afraid, child. I mean you no harm. Did they hurt you?" She shook her head, reaching weakly for the hand that had been stretched out for her. The leather was soft and warm, the hand gentle as it closed around hers, tiny in comparison, pulling her up. She fell against him, no longer having the strength to hold herself up. He wrapped his cloak around her, lifting her into his arms with very little effort. She was soaked through, her tiny frame shaking against his. The young girl seemed exhausted, scared and weak.

"Where do you live, child?" he asked softly. She shook her head violently, spraying him with water. He would worry about that later. She was trying to tell him something. "I must take you home. Your parents will be worried." Again a shake of her head, this time a desperation in her eyes. She didn't want to go home. Why? What had happened? He looked at the bruising on her arms. Could it be? Could she be the victim of an abusive family? Taking her back may prove more dangerous than leaving her out in the open. He looked down at her form, slowly falling asleep in his arms. His mind was made. If she was in danger, he wouldn't allow her to be in any more. And he couldn't leave out here to become the host to more...unsavoury characters. Wrapping his heavy cloak around her tightly, he took off along the streets, taking the routes he had carefully mapped out. Within ten minutes, he was in the tunnels, using secret entrances he had created, taking her to the warmth of his home. She was asleep, cradled against him. He smiled behind his mask.

"Welcome to my home, child. Welcome to the Shadow Gallery."

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Ok, there's chapter 1. I know it's not really long, not really that good, but give me chance. It will get better. Please, don't flame me. Constructive criticism is welcome. I hope you enjoy it.