Phileas Fogg held in his uninjured hand a newspaper, announcing the news of Queen Victoria's death, the royal sons would have been an ideal target for an assassination attempt, creating a political vacuum, however, a great disaster had befallen London, six bankers were seen walking from their posts late in the evening, their skin a pale white and their hands stained with blood. Inside the bank, every worker was found dead, their throats torn open. People walking in had to wade through a river of blood created by the killer. On the wall was the only clue, a handprint containing only three fingers. Inspecting the corpses was Dr. John Watson, former assistant of famous detective Sherlock Holmes, before his untimely demise. Watson inspected the handprint and judged three things with skills learned from his friend. He deduced that it was not a handprint, but a paw print, a monkeys to be exact, he also judged that it had four fingers, but one was curled into the palm, causing the image that stood before Scotland Yard, he also found, caked in the blood, a stem of some plant, probably peeled from the monkey's fur. He took it with him and gave it a close investigation, vowing to determine its origin.

Fogg read the abridged version of this story in The Times with great interest. The nature of the murders were strange, as no monkey fur was found, no money was taken, and if a killer could kill with such brutality, why not target someone of greater power. Fogg judged that an investigation team not bound by laws and rules needed to be formed. Since he had become the new leader of The League a year ago, Agent Sawyer had gone back to America, Mina Harker had gone on some venture to Asia, Nemo had retreated to the sea, Skinner had disappeared, an easy task for a person like him, and Dr Jekyll had been kidnapped in Edinburgh. Fogg would have to generate a new League from scatch. He already had the first member in mind, and as he walked to his cage, he wrote out a letter to be delivered. He opened the cage and the first member jumped onto his forearm. Fastening the note to his leg, Fogg spoke to him gently, having a certain affinity for the raven.

"Evermore, my friend," He cooed "I need this to be delivered to a boat on its way to Austrailia. Do me this kindness, my friend."

As Evermore flew across London, he could already see the ship in his mind, and a plan of action formed in his mind. For a crow, he was especially intelligent.


Amongst the screams of Britain's most terrible criminals, Irene Adler sat in her cell, trying to think of an escape, her mind raced as possibility upon possibility cascaded through her mind. She was torn from her revelry by the fluttering of feathers above her, and she looked up to see the coal-coloured bird looming on her from the window of the boat.

"Do you have a name, bird?" She asked, not expecting an answer, which made it all the stranger when Quoth the Raven "Evermore."