AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the third episode in my Alternative Angel Season 5 Series. Events in this follow from events in the previous two.

Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to review. Reviews (good or bad) are very very much appreciated :)

OVERTURE

"Ah Mr Angel, do sit down," the man behind the big desk greeted, motioning to the chair across from him.

"It's just Angel."

"Of course. Would you like anything to drink? Beer? Scotch? AB negative?"

"No. Thanks."

"Straight to business then." The man was Theodore Tramore. He was a thin, lanky man, and was wearing a black bowler hat that was slightly too small for him. "I understand that with the firm under new management there are a few details from our previous contract that you wish to alter before we sign the renewal."

"That's right." Angel nodded. This was what he considered to be a major downside of being the head of Wolfram and Hart: all the business talk, the meetings, the informal chit-chats. Awkward meetings where the stronger position really couldn't be gained simply by breaking a limb. Or two.

"Well our relationship has always been a strong one, and all of us here are very keen for that to continue." The man paused and looked into Angel's eyes, clearly waiting for some positive or negative reaction to this statement. Angel gave a slight nod of the head.

Tramore resumed, "So, what exactly is it that you would like to take a look at?" He picked up the contract papers from his desk and started leafing through them.

"Basically, I'm not entirely comfortable with how you operate your business."

"Really? Anything in particular causing you discomfort?"

"The people you deal with, people you sell guns to."

"I sell guns to you. Guns, explosives, swords, axes… Your firm has been a valued customer for over a hundred years now."

"You sell to people who use your weapons to hurt people."

"Forgive me, I thought that was what you used our weapons for," Tramore drawled.

"We use them to…"

"I know you're all about change, that for some reason the big boys at Wolfram and Hart think you're the man, the vampire, for the job, and that you should run things. That's fine, you run Wolfram and Hart, you make your changes. But when it comes to my business I decide how it is run. We sell weapons. It is nothing to do with us what you, or any of our customers, do with them."

Angel said nothing. Tramore was… not right, but he had a point. The firm did benefit from the services of Tramore's company.

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The big shiny city was decidedly different from her small-town Texas roots. Winifred Burkle had grown to love the city she worked and lived in. Los Angeles. Where heroes and villains and everything in between clashed. As head of Practical Science at Wolfram and Hart she was becoming grateful for her time outside of the lab in the noise and brightness of the city. She smiled and waved to the guy at the security desk on her way out of the main doors. The night was like any other. The warmth of the day still hadn't entirely faded. Even now her mind was at work, equations and ideas swirling round, waiting to be called forth to the front of her consciousness. Right now the most pressing thought was: tacos. Fred had an urgent hunger for tacos.

"Miss Burkle!" Came a shout from behind her. Fred turned and saw a young man in a dark designer suit emerging from the Wolfram and Hart building. "I'm glad I caught you," the young man said as he continued dashing towards her. "I'm Ritchie Evans, from accounting." He was carrying a small stack of papers. "I was just wondering if you could double check this," he handed her some of the papers. "As you can see, the figures you gave us suggest your department is two-hundred and thirty-four percent over budget for this month." Fred nodded slowly as she looked over the papers. "I thought perhaps you had put an extra zero somewhere by mistake. I hoped we could get this sorted out before the weekend." Fred cringed inwardly. She knew full well that the figures were correct. A particularly complex experiment on…

Her train of thought was interrupted by the loud roaring of a motorcycle engine. Fred, and Ritchie-from-accounting, looked up to see a figure in all black leathers and a black helmet racing toward them on a Harley-avidson. The motorcycle came to a stop twenty meters away from them. Ritchie looked alarmed. Fred didn't like the look of this one little bitty bit.

The rider in black leapt off his motorcycle and started purposefully towards them.

"Back into the building," Fred said. They quickly headed back towards the doors, Fred slightly behind Ritchie. The rider in black pulled out a sliver weapon, a gun. It was an odd looking gun that looked like an extra-long barreled revolver.

Fred glanced back and saw the gun as the rider brought it up, taking aim. Fred knew Ritchie was in the line of fire. "He's got a gun, move!" Fred shouted. Ritchie glanced back. His eyes went wide and he froze. Fred acted on instinct. She threw herself at the accountant.

Bang.

A single shot rang out.

A flash of blue flame licked the air from the barrel of the silver gun.

Fred and Ritchie crashed to the ground, Ritchie grunting as he landed, the white papers falling all around them. He looked down.

There was blood on his shirt. Red stains. He knew that couldn't be a good sign.

The Gunman was already sprinting back to his bike. He leapt onto it and roared off into the night.

Ritchie got up to his feet. He was shaking. He looked down at the blood spots on his shirt. No pain. And then he looked down at Fred.

She was face down on the ground. There was blood in her hair. He quickly rolled her over onto her back. Her eyes were open. Staring.

Ritchie turned. He took a step back. And then he ran away as fast as he could.

Fred continued her empty stare.

The bullet had hit the back of her head.

Lying on the ground outside the building, with papers scattered around her, Winifred Burkle stared into nowhere.