Hey ya'll!

Since today, the 25th of January, was the day that Al Capone had died from syphilis, I thought it would be best to write a story about him. (Mostly because I've been roleplaying him for awhile, and have become rather attached to his character.) Don't ask me why, I just want to. I decided to do post this one, because of the fact I'm having Al quote himself in each chapter.

I just want to warn you, this is my first time writing a story for Night at the Museum, and the only character I think I have down is Al, considering, as I've said, I've been roleplaying as him. So it probably won't be the best thing. (Plus I've have a really bad case of Writer's Block.)

One last thing, before I get to the disclaimer, there probably is going to be a gay ship in this. Well, there will probably be mentions of Jed/Octavius, because they're adorable. But there's going to be a more prominent one.

Anyways I don't own Night at the Museum, the only thing in this I kinda own is the wax figure of Jimmy Lucas.

Al knew something was wrong the moment he woke up, seeing as he wasn't supposed to be awake.

The gangster looked around himself in confusion, before deciding that it was probably a good idea to find both Napoleon and Ivan. With that goal in mind Al took a step forward, completely forgetting that he was in his case.

Slamming straight into the plastic, Al scowled and rubbed his nose.

"Stupid box," Al muttered to himself, before he remembered that he was in a box.

A small box.

A panic built up in his chest, and he started to bang on the case. Making a poor attempt to get the attention of someone who would be near enough to hear him (despite the fact that his case was sound-proof for some strange reason), so that they'd let him out of the damn deathtrap.

The walls were closing in around Al, and he pounded harder onto the plastic wall, memories he didn't know surfacing in his mind. The memory of a small, damp and cramped cell. He could almost hear the sounds of waves crashing onto rocks, and the shouts of the other prisoners. And then there were the names, the names of people Al didn't know, or barely knew.

His heart was pounding in his chest, as his panic rose. No one was going to let him out of this damn case, were they? Al slammed his palms onto the case once again, before taking a step back. The ex-gangster collapsed to the ground, and pulled his knees to his chest before burying his face into them. He closed his eyes, and attempted to ignore the fact that he was trapped in this stupid box. And the fact that the walls were closing in on him.

And so Al sat like that for a few minutes, trying to ignore the horror that filled him to the core, and the memories that consumed him. Memories of his last prison.

Suddenly, and without warning, the door to Al's case, which only opened from the outside, was opened.

"Al?"

Instantly Al was standing, and glaring at Napoleon and Ivan.

"What?" He asked.

"Are you alright?" Napoleon asked him.

"Yeah, what makes ya think otherwise, Sap?" Al asked defensively, crossing his arms.

"You were just sitting on the ground having a nervous breakdown." Ivan pointed out.

"No I wasn't," Al denied, before pushing past the two into the dark archives. "So ya pills have any idea on what's going on?"

"Nyet."

"Non."

Al frowned, and tapped his foot as he glanced around. "Ya don't think it has anything to do with Kah-Moron?"

"Who could it?" Napoleon asked. "He is dead."

Al shrugged.

"We could find out, though," Ivan said. "We should split up and see if we can find anything."

"How would we alert each other that we found something?" Napoleon asked.

"We could whistle." Al suggested.

After a few more minutes of debating, the three decided that it would be best to split up in hopes of figuring out what was exactly going on. So with that, they all went off into opposite directions, with the promise to whistle if they figured something out, or if they managed to get themselves into some kind of trouble.

Al glanced around the archives, mentally cursing himself, along with Napoleon and Ivan, for believing that it would've been a good idea to separate. What could've possibly made them believe that they could find something separated, when they couldn't even see where they were going! Honestly, it was probably a really stupid decision on their part.

The gangster let out a not-so-nice word, just as he tripped over something. Seeing as it was dark, it was probably no wonder he tripped over something. (And in all honesty, Al was kind of surprised that he hadn't tripped over anything before that point.) Since Al was unable to balance himself out, he stuck his arms out in order to catch himself. Only to have his right hand land on some sharp blade thing, which cut into his skin.

Letting out a curse, Al quickly rolled over, and sat up. Luckily he wasn't in any which way or form, real, so it wasn't like the blade thing could've caused that much damage. (Besides cutting into his wax, something that could easily be fixed by heating it up.) Of course, pain was a different matter, but Al decided it would be best to ignore the pain.

Especially when he heard someone call for help.

Despite what most people would believe, Al was actually a pretty nice guy. If, of course, you didn't do anything to make him angry. So when he heard the cries for help, he instantly got off the ground, and started to run towards the source.

Stumbling, and running into basically anything in the way, while he was attempting to reach the person.

The moment Al reached the place where he was sure the cries were coming from, they stopped. The eerie silence unnerved Al.

"Hello?" Al called, glancing around him. "Anyone there?"

There was a moment of silence, the type of silence that sends chills up a person's back, before someone decided to answer Al.

"How predictable." A voice mused.

The moment Al heard it, he froze. He knew that he'd heard that voice before, somewhere, but Al wasn't sure where he had heard it. All he knew was that it wasn't good.

"Who are you?" Al demanded. "Show yourself!"

"Very well."

Then, as if he were a villain from some sort of super-hero movie, he moved from the shadows.

Even with the darkness that nearly blinded Al, he was able to see who it was clearly. The problem was, he didn't know who it was.

The man was young, looking around the same age as Al. The ex-gangster had a strong feeling that he somehow knew this man, but the problem was, he couldn't place him.

"You know, I had a feeling you'd come here." The told him, narrowing his eyes. "You're so…" he scowled as he said the next word, "Kind. Honestly, with that weak kind of behavior, it's a wonder on how you managed to stay on top and not get murdered."

Al crossed his arms, and glared at the man.

"Don't mistake my kindness for weakness," Al advised. "I'm kind to everyone, but if you're unkind to me, weak is not what you're going to remember."

The man, whoever he was, let out a hearty laugh. An insane laugh. The laugh reminded Al of Kah-Munblah, so obviously something was going to happen, and it most defiantly wasn't going to be good.

"Are you sure? Because the only thing I remember you being, is weak."

"Huh, funny, considering I don't remember anything about you, at all. Including who you are." Al told him.

"How about I remind you, then?" He asked.

The man walked over to Al, and forced him to back up into one of the large shelves full of exhibits. Exhibits that were pounding against the wood of their crates to get out.

"First of all, the name's Jimmy, Jimmy Lucas." The man told him. "And the one thing I'm known for best… is this."

All of the sudden something sharp was forced into Al's stomach, causing his eyes to widen in shock.

Don't mistake my kindness for weakness, I'm kind to everyone, but if you are unkind to me, weak is not how you're going to remember me.

-Al Capone