ABE
Buffy lay restless next to Spike in the old cot that had only recently served as his bed. As she lay there she searched for slumber. All she found however, was the constant worry that she had learned to live with for the past few weeks. She thought about the girls upstairs and how unprepared they were for the impending battle. Buffy could feel the end conflict coming soon. It was only a few days away. She was sure of that.
Next to her, Spike slept soundlessly. If she didn't know any better, she would have believed he was dead...for good. As her thoughts drifted to him, she felt the familiar conflict well up within her. She just could allow herself to let go and melt into his arms. She wanted to, she could feel that. It was a quick release; a safe haven for her to escape to and flee the approaching darkness. Every time the urge rose, however, she reminded herself of the girls upstairs and the shadow of evil spreading over the world.
Absently, Buffy had begun to stroke Spike's arm as it lay across her waist. His skin was as cold as ever, but she still felt comfort in his presence. Eventually, Spike pulled his arm away and rolled to the side. Buffy sat up in the cot, giving up on the idea of getting any sleep this night. She stood from the cot and began pacing around the dim basement. Strong moonlight streamed in through the small windows at the top of the basement walls. The light was enough to see by as Buffy strolled across the concrete floor to eventually stare up and outside one of those portals.
Buffy could only see part of the night sky and the bushes which lined around her home. Everything seemed so peaceful, however. She could hardly believe that the city was deserted and that the greatest evil was soon planning on releasing a great army that could destroy her world. The idea crossed Buffy's mind that maybe this isn't real and that if she walked back over to that old cot and laid down next to Spike, sleep would come and she could forget her duty. This was a fleeting thought, however, and one that had popped into her head several times before.
As Buffy stared up through the window she wrapped her arms around her to ward off the cold. She was about to step away from the window and head up stairs to check on everyone else when she felt the cold air grow still. Suddenly, there was someone else in the room with her; someone besides Spike. The presence moved forward from the darkness and approached her side.
"Pretty, ain't he?" a familiar voice asked from beside her.
Buffy glanced to the side with mild surprise. She saw the form of Caleb in his priest cloth. His face was clean and unblemished. Last time Buffy had seen him, blackness had been drooling forth from his eyes; eyes which had been staring at her with hatred. Only moments later, Caleb had been laying in two pieces on the floor, cut in twain by Buffy's axe. He had been clearly dead.
Now, however, he was standing beside her. Buffy quickly realized that Caleb was, in fact, dead and that the man next to her was not a human but a projection of The First.
"You're not him," Buffy stated, turned her head back toward the window.
"No, you killed him. Right and proper." The First replied also looking up toward the same window.
He then turned back toward Buffy.
"Terrible loss," he stated. He then placed his palm on his chest. "This man was my good right arm."
Buffy didn't reply. She continued to watch out the lightened window and ignored his statement.
The First then dropped his hand and turned his head back toward the window.
"'course, it don't pain me too much," he stated. "Don't need and arm, got an army."
He finished his statement with a small smirk.
With a smile of her own, Buffy turned toward the First.
"An army of vampires," she stated mockingly. "However with I fight-"
"Everyday, our numbers swell." The First interrupted with a calm face.
"But then," The First spoke, looking concerned, "you do have an army of your own. Some thirty odd pimple faced girls who don't know the pointy end of a stake."
The first raised a curled finger to his lips in mock consideration.
"Maybe I should call this off." He said.
"Have you ever considered a cool name?" Buffy asked in response. She shrugged her shoulders. "Since you're incorporeal and basically powerless. How about The Taunter? Strikes fear in the heart of-"
"I will overrun this earth." The First, once again, interrupted. His voice took a stern and serious tone. "And when my army outnumbers the human's on this earth, the scales will tip and I will be made flesh."
"Talk on," Buffy replied, shaking her head in dismissal. "I'm not afraid of you."
The First smiled a knowing smile and glanced towards the pale light of the window.
"Then why aren't you asleep?" he asked, turning his head back to Buffy. "In your dead lover's arms?"
Buffy's eyes widened slight and slipped toward the sleeping form of Spike. As she looked away from him, The First also turned to glance at the sleeping vampire.
"Cause he can't help you." The First stated.
He stared a moment longer at Spike then turned back to Buffy and look down at her.
"Not that he would." The First stated. "It wouldn't be written that way."
Buffy looked up at him with slight confusion.
"Written?" she repeated. "I have to tell ya, I'm not one to follow prophecies."
The First chuckled under his breath.
"No, child, you'll follow this to a 'T', but it ain't no prophecy." He smirked. "Unless, of course, they want it to be."
"What the hell are you talking about." Buffy almost yelled in confusion. "I thought you were the 'they'.the big bad!"
"No, I'm just a toy to these puppet masters." The First smiled meekly. "Just another domino to be steamrolled in your eventual victory."
Buffy had no words as a response. She had just heard the big bad state that she would win as if it was a fact; as if only time stood in the way of her success. She didn't expect this type of admission from what was supposed to be the root of all evil and the surprise struck her dumb.
The First watched her for a moment and then scowled down at her.
"Oh, come on." He stated, Caleb's southern draw digging deep into the words. "Doesn't it seem overly dramatic and yet silly to have a presence represent the 'first evil'? The source of man's hatred?"
Buffy finally drew herself out of shock and was able to speak.
".uh.well...it wasn't my idea. You big bads have always been big on the evil and the power."
The First raised a finger sharply at Buffy. She stepped back in surprise.
"And, how about that?" he spoke. "How many 'big bads' have you faced? How many threats to the world and its people?"
Confusion again washed over Buffy's face.
"I dunno, five or six I guess." She replied.
"Any yet, each time, you're successful. Each time, against all odds, you somehow attain a new level of ability and slay the evil in the nick of time. You'd think that those 'big bads' would eventually get the idea and stop coming within your reach."
Buffy stepped further back from the image of The First. She didn't know what he was doing, but he was making her uneasy.
".well.I.I am the slayer." the slayer stammered.
"Right, the slayer!" The First tossed his head back and laughed. "Another absurdity."
"Look," Buffy stated in a perplexed tone, "I don't know what you're trying to do, but you're not going to stop me, I will defeat you."
"Well, of course you will, that's my point." The First replied, still chuckling. "My god, girl, I could be the devil himself and you would be able to defeat me. Only because that's the way they want it and that's what everyone loves."
"Think about it." The First spoke, stepping forward. "'One girl in all the world'? Doesn't that sound a little off to you?"
The First laughed under his breath as Buffy just stared at him warily.
"You've faced true demons, and gods, and mechanical horrors, and all sorts of evil creatures. There is obviously a fair amount of evil in Sunnydale not to mention the whole of the world. Yet these ancient wizards of long ago with their great power's decided to create only a single young girl to combat all this evil."
The First cocked Caleb's eyebrow at her.
"It's a bit skewed." He stated pointedly.
".well.." Buffy attempted to respond. "I alone was given the power. No one else has the strength or can do what I do."
"So true, you are the best and strongest." The First agreed. "Yet, somehow, your friends all survive."
Buffy glanced toward the stairs that lead up and out of the basement then looked back toward The First.
"What do you mean?" she asked meekly.
"Well, you alone are the slayer and you alone have the power yet you keep taking those around you into the battle with these dangerous creatures. There they are, these weak little humans in battle with these adversaries that are and handful even for you and, each time, they seem to survive. In fact, you're the only one that dies! You've been dead twice and each time brought back to life!"
The First was almost yelling as he finished speaking. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. Calmer now, he spoke again.
"Does that seem rational to you?" he asked.
Buffy didn't respond at first but, when The First didn't continue, it was obvious that he was waiting for her to say something. She glanced over at Spike expecting to see him awake after The First had been yelling. The vampire still slept quietly, however. He was seemingly undisturbed by the noise.
"I don't make the rules and I didn't ask to be brought back." She replied. "I would have rather stayed in heaven."
"But you didn't, and I know why." The First stated.
"Why?" Buffy exclaimed. "Because my friends brought me back. That's why!"
"No," The First stated simply. "Because they wanted more and you are at the center of it all."
"They?" she was yelling, this time. "Who is they?"
"They are the ones that have written your every word. They scripted your every emotion and choreographed every moment of your pain. They decided what you fight, when you fight, and where you fight it. In your respect, they have power greater than gods and yet they are driven by a single purpose that rewards them, the need to make it interesting."
The First folded his hands together before him and regarded Buffy solemnly. For a second she actually thought she saw pity reflected in his eyes.
The First continued in barely more than a whisper.
"A world covered in death and demons. Where magic is hidden from the rest of the world and yet as common as the girl next door. Where death is the ultimate cliffhanger and yet as easy to overcome as choosing a prom dress. Where every young man, woman, and child is fit and attractive and their greatest worries are not peer-pressure or missing curfew but demons in the high school and plots of cataclysm."
The First watched Buffy for a moment, his eyes bored into her own with awful sincerity.
"Sounds like a fairy tale to me."
Anger shot through Buffy's veins. She finally realized where The First was going with his conversation. He meant to invalidate her and her efforts somehow. She wasn't certain what his conclusion would be, but he was definitely trying to trick her into believing it.
She dropped her hands defiantly to her sides and stepped back yet again.
"We're done here," she stated harshly. "Sell your tricks to someone else."
She then turned and started up the wooden stairs out of the basement.
As she climbed, The First called out behind her.
"Tell me, oh slayer, do you remember what you ate for breakfast yesterday morning. Or what your favorite drink is? Or the last time you had your cycle?"
Buffy's steps slowed as she climbed the stairs. Soon she stopped altogether. She stood halfway up the steps facing away from The First, her head lowered down in contemplation.
"Oh, I'm certain that you believe that you must have done these things," The First spoke, "but can you remember them? Can you remember the details?"
Buffy turned back toward The First and stood on the stairs with wary eyes. She regarded the projection of Caleb for a moment before speaking.
"What are you saying? That your 'they' didn't write any of that so I can't vividly remember it?" Her tone was low and trembled slightly.
The First raised his palms before him in a pleading fashion.
"Please," he stated calmly, "no one wants to see all of that. It's not interesting enough. They have only a limited time to tell your story and they only enjoy showing the dramatic bits."
Buffy rushed back down the stairs and approached the image of The First. Anger burned through her and she clenched her first in frustration knowing that she could not attack this unearthly projection.
"I've done the 'this reality is in my mind' bit already," she spoke between clenched teeth. "It didn't work then either."
The First dropped his hands before him and watched her calmly.
"Besides," Buffy continued, a bit calmer, "if what you say is true. Then 'they' have written this as well."
"Well," The First replied, glance down toward the concrete floor, "someone did, anyhow."
Buffy ignored his evasive answer.
"Why, then," she folded her hands across her chest as she spoke, "would they want to give up the game and write you telling me everything?"
"Because, child," The first answered with a smile, "your story is coming to an end."
Concern washed across Buffy's face and her back straightened slightly.
"What?" she asked quietly. Her tone turned to a harsh mocking. "Am I no longer popular?"
"Hardly," he answered, "but the story has gone on long enough and the child that interprets your life is growing weary of the job."
"Interprets my life." Buffy whispered in confusion.
Suddenly, understanding dawned in her mind and her face lightened with its expression.
"A television show?" she asked incredulously.
The First smiled broadly.
"You're saying that my life is some prime-time soap opera?" Buffy laughed in spite of herself, the idea was too silly to believe.
The smile dropped from The Firsts face and he regarded her seriously.
"Well, more in the comedy or action genre, I'd say." He answered.
"I don't believe you." She replied. Her face was hard-set and burned of anger.
"You're whole life is a fabrication, Buffy. A set of written lines argued over and perfected then typed and distributed. Each of your choices and decisions were laid out months in advance. All of your pain and suffering was planned and orchestrated from conception. Every smile and tear and thrust of your hips was an interpretation of one young woman who practiced and rehearsed everything you have said from the ever growing storyline that is your life. And this was all done for the enjoyment of millions and the profit of others."
Buffy stood staring at The First, his words burning through her head in a swirling cloud of panic. She didn't want to believe him. He was the evil she had grown to hate and destroy, but, for some reason, she knew that he was being honest. The idea that she was not in control of her own life was preposterous. Buffy made decisions about her life everyday. Somehow, thought, his words stayed with her and rang deeply within her.
The First glanced around the basement then turned back to Buffy.
"Even the places that you know are not real," he spoke, gesturing to the walls of the basement. "All of them were created and setup for the moments activities. When no longer needed, these stone walls we see will be disassembled as easily as a house of cards. Then new cards will be brought in and setup again, transporting you to your new location."
"I don't believe you." Buffy stated emphatically. Her eyes had grown wide and she starred almost unseeing before her as fear danced within her veins.
"No?" The First asked, stepping forward. "Then look around you. Turn and look at the wall behind you." The image of Caleb pointed behind the slayer and out of view.
"Turn and look." He urged. "If I'm wrong, then you'll see nothing but the fourth walls of the basement in your home in Sunnydale. And you'll continue to fight evil single-handedly and be the lone guardian of evil in all the world."
He paused as Buffy watched him warily.
Lifting a finger before him, The First continued.
"But, if I'm right, then you'll see something complete different and you'll know the truth. You'll be as free as you can be, but you'll know the truth; that your life is not real and not your own. That for the past seven years you have been the marionette for a host of sick and greedy story-tellers. Story-tellers who have decided to bring your particular story to an end."
The First finished his statement in almost a sorrowful tone. As if he was destroying himself in the process.
Buffy just stood staring before her toward The First. She was locked in her stance and could not move. She desperately wanted to run up the stairs and to the warm confirmation of her friends. What The First had spoken had struck home with her and Buffy feared for her life; the very validity of her existence. Try as she might, though, Buffy couldn't stop herself as she felt one leg begin to turn and draw her eyes around behind herself.
As she turned, Buffy saw nothing except for the concrete blocks of the basement wall before her. Her eyes traveled every inch of the wall looking for some imperfection, some barrier she had never seen before that was hiding The First's truth from her. Still, nothing but blocks of stone ran before her as she slowly turned. Relief washed over Buffy as she continued. Her fears began to recede and Buffy's clenched hands relaxed.
Buffy continued to turn and scan the walls. Suddenly, the wall stopped and dropped off into darkness. Buffy believed there should have been a corner there and the next wall should begin, but there was nothing but darkness. Buffy's heart pounded in her chest and leapt up into her throat. She continued to turn, her eye's wide with horror.
The darkness soon faded behind a blinding light which stood higher then her off the ground. Standing next to the light was a man in a black tee-shirt holding a long coiled cable in his hands. He stood watching her with a bored look on his face. Next to him was another man in similar clothes. His arms hung outstretched above him. In his hands he held a long pole with one of those Hollywood boom mics hanging at the end. He was currently suspending the mic almost directly above Buffy.
She continued to turn. A few feet from the man holding the mic, Buffy saw a row of men behind a set of monitors sitting in those directors chairs you always saw in those "behind-the-scenes" movies. They were all intently watching the screens in front of them. Farther in her turn, Buffy found what looked to be a large movie camera. It was large and black and pointed straight towards her. Above its broad lens sat a small red light which glowed brightly. Seeing the camera, Buffy stopped and stared at it. If she listened closely, she could hear the quiet ticking of the camera as the film advanced within its hard case.
Astonishment was the only emotion griping Buffy. She could feel nothing and think nothing further. Only surprised coursed through her body. Slowly, however, a feeling of dread and emptiness consumed her.
Suddenly, one of the men behind the monitors yelled.
"And cut!" he stated.
As soon as he had spoken, the red light on the camera dimmed and everyone started moving. The man holding the rod stepped back and lowered the large mic. As he did, the man next to him began winding the long cord into his hands. The men behind the monitors nodded their head in approval and several stood up and walked into the darkness behind them. The one man who had yelled stood up and walked forward in front of the now retreating camera.
He was approaching Buffy.
"That was great," he said approvingly, "take a break while we setup for the next scene."
The man wore a light blue, buttoned shirt and a pair of loose fitting, black slacks. His face was full and round in his cheeks and he wore a thin smile across his pale lips. His hair was brown and short and parted to the side across his head.
He stopped in his tracks as he watched Buffy. His eyes squinted in concern for a moment.
"Sarah? You okay?" he asked, looking at Buffy.
Buffy's head jerked toward him and she blinked in his direction.
She paused.
Shaking her head lightly, Sarah smiled sheepishly.
"Yeah. Joss," She spoke. "I was just out of it for a second."
"That's okay," Joss replied. "Why don't you go get a drink."
Sarah nodded in agreement and Joss walked off past her.
"Right." She answered quietly, still a little dazed..
Just as she was about to leave, Sarah looked behind her and into the camera which had been setup behind her for this scene. It was the same camera that followed her turn as she panned around the basement. Oddly, she found the red light sitting above the lens still lit.
Shrugging, Sarah walked forward off the set, past the small monitors, and faded off into the surrounding darkness.
Moments later, the form of The First stepped forward and into the cameras view. He was watching in the direction toward which Sarah had just left. A slow smile crept across his face.
His head then jerked slightly to the side in the direction of the running camera. He turned slowly with a teasing smile on his face and looked directly into the camera.
He chuckled.
"You just can't let go, can you?"
Fade to black.
Buffy lay restless next to Spike in the old cot that had only recently served as his bed. As she lay there she searched for slumber. All she found however, was the constant worry that she had learned to live with for the past few weeks. She thought about the girls upstairs and how unprepared they were for the impending battle. Buffy could feel the end conflict coming soon. It was only a few days away. She was sure of that.
Next to her, Spike slept soundlessly. If she didn't know any better, she would have believed he was dead...for good. As her thoughts drifted to him, she felt the familiar conflict well up within her. She just could allow herself to let go and melt into his arms. She wanted to, she could feel that. It was a quick release; a safe haven for her to escape to and flee the approaching darkness. Every time the urge rose, however, she reminded herself of the girls upstairs and the shadow of evil spreading over the world.
Absently, Buffy had begun to stroke Spike's arm as it lay across her waist. His skin was as cold as ever, but she still felt comfort in his presence. Eventually, Spike pulled his arm away and rolled to the side. Buffy sat up in the cot, giving up on the idea of getting any sleep this night. She stood from the cot and began pacing around the dim basement. Strong moonlight streamed in through the small windows at the top of the basement walls. The light was enough to see by as Buffy strolled across the concrete floor to eventually stare up and outside one of those portals.
Buffy could only see part of the night sky and the bushes which lined around her home. Everything seemed so peaceful, however. She could hardly believe that the city was deserted and that the greatest evil was soon planning on releasing a great army that could destroy her world. The idea crossed Buffy's mind that maybe this isn't real and that if she walked back over to that old cot and laid down next to Spike, sleep would come and she could forget her duty. This was a fleeting thought, however, and one that had popped into her head several times before.
As Buffy stared up through the window she wrapped her arms around her to ward off the cold. She was about to step away from the window and head up stairs to check on everyone else when she felt the cold air grow still. Suddenly, there was someone else in the room with her; someone besides Spike. The presence moved forward from the darkness and approached her side.
"Pretty, ain't he?" a familiar voice asked from beside her.
Buffy glanced to the side with mild surprise. She saw the form of Caleb in his priest cloth. His face was clean and unblemished. Last time Buffy had seen him, blackness had been drooling forth from his eyes; eyes which had been staring at her with hatred. Only moments later, Caleb had been laying in two pieces on the floor, cut in twain by Buffy's axe. He had been clearly dead.
Now, however, he was standing beside her. Buffy quickly realized that Caleb was, in fact, dead and that the man next to her was not a human but a projection of The First.
"You're not him," Buffy stated, turned her head back toward the window.
"No, you killed him. Right and proper." The First replied also looking up toward the same window.
He then turned back toward Buffy.
"Terrible loss," he stated. He then placed his palm on his chest. "This man was my good right arm."
Buffy didn't reply. She continued to watch out the lightened window and ignored his statement.
The First then dropped his hand and turned his head back toward the window.
"'course, it don't pain me too much," he stated. "Don't need and arm, got an army."
He finished his statement with a small smirk.
With a smile of her own, Buffy turned toward the First.
"An army of vampires," she stated mockingly. "However with I fight-"
"Everyday, our numbers swell." The First interrupted with a calm face.
"But then," The First spoke, looking concerned, "you do have an army of your own. Some thirty odd pimple faced girls who don't know the pointy end of a stake."
The first raised a curled finger to his lips in mock consideration.
"Maybe I should call this off." He said.
"Have you ever considered a cool name?" Buffy asked in response. She shrugged her shoulders. "Since you're incorporeal and basically powerless. How about The Taunter? Strikes fear in the heart of-"
"I will overrun this earth." The First, once again, interrupted. His voice took a stern and serious tone. "And when my army outnumbers the human's on this earth, the scales will tip and I will be made flesh."
"Talk on," Buffy replied, shaking her head in dismissal. "I'm not afraid of you."
The First smiled a knowing smile and glanced towards the pale light of the window.
"Then why aren't you asleep?" he asked, turning his head back to Buffy. "In your dead lover's arms?"
Buffy's eyes widened slight and slipped toward the sleeping form of Spike. As she looked away from him, The First also turned to glance at the sleeping vampire.
"Cause he can't help you." The First stated.
He stared a moment longer at Spike then turned back to Buffy and look down at her.
"Not that he would." The First stated. "It wouldn't be written that way."
Buffy looked up at him with slight confusion.
"Written?" she repeated. "I have to tell ya, I'm not one to follow prophecies."
The First chuckled under his breath.
"No, child, you'll follow this to a 'T', but it ain't no prophecy." He smirked. "Unless, of course, they want it to be."
"What the hell are you talking about." Buffy almost yelled in confusion. "I thought you were the 'they'.the big bad!"
"No, I'm just a toy to these puppet masters." The First smiled meekly. "Just another domino to be steamrolled in your eventual victory."
Buffy had no words as a response. She had just heard the big bad state that she would win as if it was a fact; as if only time stood in the way of her success. She didn't expect this type of admission from what was supposed to be the root of all evil and the surprise struck her dumb.
The First watched her for a moment and then scowled down at her.
"Oh, come on." He stated, Caleb's southern draw digging deep into the words. "Doesn't it seem overly dramatic and yet silly to have a presence represent the 'first evil'? The source of man's hatred?"
Buffy finally drew herself out of shock and was able to speak.
".uh.well...it wasn't my idea. You big bads have always been big on the evil and the power."
The First raised a finger sharply at Buffy. She stepped back in surprise.
"And, how about that?" he spoke. "How many 'big bads' have you faced? How many threats to the world and its people?"
Confusion again washed over Buffy's face.
"I dunno, five or six I guess." She replied.
"Any yet, each time, you're successful. Each time, against all odds, you somehow attain a new level of ability and slay the evil in the nick of time. You'd think that those 'big bads' would eventually get the idea and stop coming within your reach."
Buffy stepped further back from the image of The First. She didn't know what he was doing, but he was making her uneasy.
".well.I.I am the slayer." the slayer stammered.
"Right, the slayer!" The First tossed his head back and laughed. "Another absurdity."
"Look," Buffy stated in a perplexed tone, "I don't know what you're trying to do, but you're not going to stop me, I will defeat you."
"Well, of course you will, that's my point." The First replied, still chuckling. "My god, girl, I could be the devil himself and you would be able to defeat me. Only because that's the way they want it and that's what everyone loves."
"Think about it." The First spoke, stepping forward. "'One girl in all the world'? Doesn't that sound a little off to you?"
The First laughed under his breath as Buffy just stared at him warily.
"You've faced true demons, and gods, and mechanical horrors, and all sorts of evil creatures. There is obviously a fair amount of evil in Sunnydale not to mention the whole of the world. Yet these ancient wizards of long ago with their great power's decided to create only a single young girl to combat all this evil."
The First cocked Caleb's eyebrow at her.
"It's a bit skewed." He stated pointedly.
".well.." Buffy attempted to respond. "I alone was given the power. No one else has the strength or can do what I do."
"So true, you are the best and strongest." The First agreed. "Yet, somehow, your friends all survive."
Buffy glanced toward the stairs that lead up and out of the basement then looked back toward The First.
"What do you mean?" she asked meekly.
"Well, you alone are the slayer and you alone have the power yet you keep taking those around you into the battle with these dangerous creatures. There they are, these weak little humans in battle with these adversaries that are and handful even for you and, each time, they seem to survive. In fact, you're the only one that dies! You've been dead twice and each time brought back to life!"
The First was almost yelling as he finished speaking. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. Calmer now, he spoke again.
"Does that seem rational to you?" he asked.
Buffy didn't respond at first but, when The First didn't continue, it was obvious that he was waiting for her to say something. She glanced over at Spike expecting to see him awake after The First had been yelling. The vampire still slept quietly, however. He was seemingly undisturbed by the noise.
"I don't make the rules and I didn't ask to be brought back." She replied. "I would have rather stayed in heaven."
"But you didn't, and I know why." The First stated.
"Why?" Buffy exclaimed. "Because my friends brought me back. That's why!"
"No," The First stated simply. "Because they wanted more and you are at the center of it all."
"They?" she was yelling, this time. "Who is they?"
"They are the ones that have written your every word. They scripted your every emotion and choreographed every moment of your pain. They decided what you fight, when you fight, and where you fight it. In your respect, they have power greater than gods and yet they are driven by a single purpose that rewards them, the need to make it interesting."
The First folded his hands together before him and regarded Buffy solemnly. For a second she actually thought she saw pity reflected in his eyes.
The First continued in barely more than a whisper.
"A world covered in death and demons. Where magic is hidden from the rest of the world and yet as common as the girl next door. Where death is the ultimate cliffhanger and yet as easy to overcome as choosing a prom dress. Where every young man, woman, and child is fit and attractive and their greatest worries are not peer-pressure or missing curfew but demons in the high school and plots of cataclysm."
The First watched Buffy for a moment, his eyes bored into her own with awful sincerity.
"Sounds like a fairy tale to me."
Anger shot through Buffy's veins. She finally realized where The First was going with his conversation. He meant to invalidate her and her efforts somehow. She wasn't certain what his conclusion would be, but he was definitely trying to trick her into believing it.
She dropped her hands defiantly to her sides and stepped back yet again.
"We're done here," she stated harshly. "Sell your tricks to someone else."
She then turned and started up the wooden stairs out of the basement.
As she climbed, The First called out behind her.
"Tell me, oh slayer, do you remember what you ate for breakfast yesterday morning. Or what your favorite drink is? Or the last time you had your cycle?"
Buffy's steps slowed as she climbed the stairs. Soon she stopped altogether. She stood halfway up the steps facing away from The First, her head lowered down in contemplation.
"Oh, I'm certain that you believe that you must have done these things," The First spoke, "but can you remember them? Can you remember the details?"
Buffy turned back toward The First and stood on the stairs with wary eyes. She regarded the projection of Caleb for a moment before speaking.
"What are you saying? That your 'they' didn't write any of that so I can't vividly remember it?" Her tone was low and trembled slightly.
The First raised his palms before him in a pleading fashion.
"Please," he stated calmly, "no one wants to see all of that. It's not interesting enough. They have only a limited time to tell your story and they only enjoy showing the dramatic bits."
Buffy rushed back down the stairs and approached the image of The First. Anger burned through her and she clenched her first in frustration knowing that she could not attack this unearthly projection.
"I've done the 'this reality is in my mind' bit already," she spoke between clenched teeth. "It didn't work then either."
The First dropped his hands before him and watched her calmly.
"Besides," Buffy continued, a bit calmer, "if what you say is true. Then 'they' have written this as well."
"Well," The First replied, glance down toward the concrete floor, "someone did, anyhow."
Buffy ignored his evasive answer.
"Why, then," she folded her hands across her chest as she spoke, "would they want to give up the game and write you telling me everything?"
"Because, child," The first answered with a smile, "your story is coming to an end."
Concern washed across Buffy's face and her back straightened slightly.
"What?" she asked quietly. Her tone turned to a harsh mocking. "Am I no longer popular?"
"Hardly," he answered, "but the story has gone on long enough and the child that interprets your life is growing weary of the job."
"Interprets my life." Buffy whispered in confusion.
Suddenly, understanding dawned in her mind and her face lightened with its expression.
"A television show?" she asked incredulously.
The First smiled broadly.
"You're saying that my life is some prime-time soap opera?" Buffy laughed in spite of herself, the idea was too silly to believe.
The smile dropped from The Firsts face and he regarded her seriously.
"Well, more in the comedy or action genre, I'd say." He answered.
"I don't believe you." She replied. Her face was hard-set and burned of anger.
"You're whole life is a fabrication, Buffy. A set of written lines argued over and perfected then typed and distributed. Each of your choices and decisions were laid out months in advance. All of your pain and suffering was planned and orchestrated from conception. Every smile and tear and thrust of your hips was an interpretation of one young woman who practiced and rehearsed everything you have said from the ever growing storyline that is your life. And this was all done for the enjoyment of millions and the profit of others."
Buffy stood staring at The First, his words burning through her head in a swirling cloud of panic. She didn't want to believe him. He was the evil she had grown to hate and destroy, but, for some reason, she knew that he was being honest. The idea that she was not in control of her own life was preposterous. Buffy made decisions about her life everyday. Somehow, thought, his words stayed with her and rang deeply within her.
The First glanced around the basement then turned back to Buffy.
"Even the places that you know are not real," he spoke, gesturing to the walls of the basement. "All of them were created and setup for the moments activities. When no longer needed, these stone walls we see will be disassembled as easily as a house of cards. Then new cards will be brought in and setup again, transporting you to your new location."
"I don't believe you." Buffy stated emphatically. Her eyes had grown wide and she starred almost unseeing before her as fear danced within her veins.
"No?" The First asked, stepping forward. "Then look around you. Turn and look at the wall behind you." The image of Caleb pointed behind the slayer and out of view.
"Turn and look." He urged. "If I'm wrong, then you'll see nothing but the fourth walls of the basement in your home in Sunnydale. And you'll continue to fight evil single-handedly and be the lone guardian of evil in all the world."
He paused as Buffy watched him warily.
Lifting a finger before him, The First continued.
"But, if I'm right, then you'll see something complete different and you'll know the truth. You'll be as free as you can be, but you'll know the truth; that your life is not real and not your own. That for the past seven years you have been the marionette for a host of sick and greedy story-tellers. Story-tellers who have decided to bring your particular story to an end."
The First finished his statement in almost a sorrowful tone. As if he was destroying himself in the process.
Buffy just stood staring before her toward The First. She was locked in her stance and could not move. She desperately wanted to run up the stairs and to the warm confirmation of her friends. What The First had spoken had struck home with her and Buffy feared for her life; the very validity of her existence. Try as she might, though, Buffy couldn't stop herself as she felt one leg begin to turn and draw her eyes around behind herself.
As she turned, Buffy saw nothing except for the concrete blocks of the basement wall before her. Her eyes traveled every inch of the wall looking for some imperfection, some barrier she had never seen before that was hiding The First's truth from her. Still, nothing but blocks of stone ran before her as she slowly turned. Relief washed over Buffy as she continued. Her fears began to recede and Buffy's clenched hands relaxed.
Buffy continued to turn and scan the walls. Suddenly, the wall stopped and dropped off into darkness. Buffy believed there should have been a corner there and the next wall should begin, but there was nothing but darkness. Buffy's heart pounded in her chest and leapt up into her throat. She continued to turn, her eye's wide with horror.
The darkness soon faded behind a blinding light which stood higher then her off the ground. Standing next to the light was a man in a black tee-shirt holding a long coiled cable in his hands. He stood watching her with a bored look on his face. Next to him was another man in similar clothes. His arms hung outstretched above him. In his hands he held a long pole with one of those Hollywood boom mics hanging at the end. He was currently suspending the mic almost directly above Buffy.
She continued to turn. A few feet from the man holding the mic, Buffy saw a row of men behind a set of monitors sitting in those directors chairs you always saw in those "behind-the-scenes" movies. They were all intently watching the screens in front of them. Farther in her turn, Buffy found what looked to be a large movie camera. It was large and black and pointed straight towards her. Above its broad lens sat a small red light which glowed brightly. Seeing the camera, Buffy stopped and stared at it. If she listened closely, she could hear the quiet ticking of the camera as the film advanced within its hard case.
Astonishment was the only emotion griping Buffy. She could feel nothing and think nothing further. Only surprised coursed through her body. Slowly, however, a feeling of dread and emptiness consumed her.
Suddenly, one of the men behind the monitors yelled.
"And cut!" he stated.
As soon as he had spoken, the red light on the camera dimmed and everyone started moving. The man holding the rod stepped back and lowered the large mic. As he did, the man next to him began winding the long cord into his hands. The men behind the monitors nodded their head in approval and several stood up and walked into the darkness behind them. The one man who had yelled stood up and walked forward in front of the now retreating camera.
He was approaching Buffy.
"That was great," he said approvingly, "take a break while we setup for the next scene."
The man wore a light blue, buttoned shirt and a pair of loose fitting, black slacks. His face was full and round in his cheeks and he wore a thin smile across his pale lips. His hair was brown and short and parted to the side across his head.
He stopped in his tracks as he watched Buffy. His eyes squinted in concern for a moment.
"Sarah? You okay?" he asked, looking at Buffy.
Buffy's head jerked toward him and she blinked in his direction.
She paused.
Shaking her head lightly, Sarah smiled sheepishly.
"Yeah. Joss," She spoke. "I was just out of it for a second."
"That's okay," Joss replied. "Why don't you go get a drink."
Sarah nodded in agreement and Joss walked off past her.
"Right." She answered quietly, still a little dazed..
Just as she was about to leave, Sarah looked behind her and into the camera which had been setup behind her for this scene. It was the same camera that followed her turn as she panned around the basement. Oddly, she found the red light sitting above the lens still lit.
Shrugging, Sarah walked forward off the set, past the small monitors, and faded off into the surrounding darkness.
Moments later, the form of The First stepped forward and into the cameras view. He was watching in the direction toward which Sarah had just left. A slow smile crept across his face.
His head then jerked slightly to the side in the direction of the running camera. He turned slowly with a teasing smile on his face and looked directly into the camera.
He chuckled.
"You just can't let go, can you?"
Fade to black.