Bruised and battered, a blood soaked Alexander Harris stumbled up the quite streets of Sunnydale, the barest rays of morning sun creeping up over the horizon. The young Scooby left a trail of red footprints as a marker behind him along with small saltwater spots. The boy had been through hell and back. Xander tripped over an uneven sidewalk crack and fell face first onto the grey pavement. Pushing himself up, the ruined boy 's face never changed. The once perpetually cheerful boy had a face marred by a long crimson line from temple to chin. His brown eyes showed none of the pain his wounds would suggest, but instead were hard and cold, despite the steady stream of tears that oozed like falls from his eyes.
Continuing his crimson trail, our ruined Zeppo pressed foreword. By the time he reached his destination morning had come in full, house wives jogging, birds chirping, and the beasts of the night put to rest. Slipping into the ruined bunker/warehouse that had been his goal, Xander immediately curled up on a pile of rags laid out next too the door. Shuddering he stared blankly at the wall, appearing to all the world as if no thoughts but pain raced through his head.
In truth, the thoughts running through his head were of pain, simply not his own. No, the thoughts were of what he would do too those that had left him to the beast that had crafted him into the stoic creature he now was.
Buffy.
Willow.
Oz.
Giles…
All of them would pay.
But first he would be patient. He could afford it, after all he needed time to prepare. He needed time to make a call to his uncle.
This is John Kramer speaking, leave a message at the tone…
Short little opening =3