There is one place, other than hell that is dreaded by all demons. From Vampires to Werewolves, no one wants to go there. The place that is mentioned is called hell by some, others call it home. Its original name is one that cannot be said in human tongue but to most of the people there, it is called Slave town.
The rich and wealthy live here with the slaves that give it the town its name. It is in a human world, but thanks to a mystical energy surrounding it, the place cannot be seen to a human eye, unless you know what you are looking for.
The rich folks of this town live high up on hills, away from the filth that was running the small town below. The mystical energy that kept this place hidden also acted as a filter for the sun, so that vampire slaves could work in the day time as well. And believe me, any vampire caught in this place… Well, let's just say they wished they were dust.
Vampires are the most picked demons in this world, due to their strength and immortality. Nothing like an immortal slave to serve the family for the rest of your life! One vampire, known as the big bad, the bleached wonder, the Billy Idol look alike had found himself in this place.
Spike.
It had been a normal night for him, coming back from the butcher's shop, planning on enjoying a night off, since it was Halloween. He was walking down the alley before he heard something shuffling behind him.
"Listen mate, sod off. I ain't in the mood, okay? I'm hungry, tired and just a little bit pissed off, so either get away from me or I'll be thinking about a desert afterwards." Spike still heard shuffling and so, placing the brown paper bag on a nearby dumpster, he turned swiftly, his black leather duster making a soft wishing sound as he did. His face suddenly turned to horror though.
"Oh bloody hell…" Spike muttered, before a net was put over him and he was hit with a very large stick.
That's the shorter, much nicer version, unless you count in his blood was drained, what he had in his system so to make him weak and much less likely to fight. Now, brought by one guy who lived in one mansion, Spike or 83211c as he was called was crouched down on the ground, barefoot, his trademark blonde hair had been shaved off and wore only rags with a make shift hood. He sat by an old car, looking for something to eat. Killing another slave was against the rules and Spike already carried the scars of one episode. They burnt his left eye out with a hot poker.
He hadn't ate for a few days now, surviving on what he could, maybe if he was good today, then he could have something to eat of "the man" He got up and went back to his work that he had for the day.
He tended to outside and inside the house, doing odd jobs and occasionally getting punished for being there. Spike was afraid of everything, not how he used to be when he was with Buffy and the Scooby gang, or Angel, the CEO working for hell really. His bed was an old train track normally, not far from the house. But he wouldn't sleep. He would lie awake at night and look at the stars and sigh deeply. His heart would sail through the skies those night and he wondered if Angel and the rest of the gang missed him as much as he missed them. Sure, his Grandsire wasn't the most cheerful person to be with and used way too much hair-gel in the morning, but… He was still family.
Spike wondered what a family would be like after three years here?