"The Three Edged Blade Best Seen From Afar" by Shadow Master
(BtVS/Hitman Universe/The Bourne Franchise/Mission Impossible/Tomb Raider/Others)
email: ryley[underscore]breen
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the copyrighted material contained herein. They are the rightful property of their respective creators and/or associated companies. I make no profit from this whatsoever and I have no intention of changing this at any point in the future. I write because it's fun and because there are those who enjoy reading my works. Therefore it would be greatly appreciated if no legal action were taken against me because I can assure you that whatever you get from me won't cover even a tenth of your legal fees.
Note: The core elements of this crossover will be the franchises listed above but I may include others provided I believe that they can properly mesh with the above franchises. While I will try to remain as close to canon as possible I think all of you can agree that each franchise has its share of continuity errors and contradictions. As such while I will remain true to the core facts I will be cherry picking various facts from all the canon works in order to tell the story I wish to tell. If you have a problem with any deviation whatsoever from canon I suggest you stop reading right now. It's not that I am not aware of the various smart options and efficient ways of doing things but rather I have a story I wish to tell and doing things the smart or efficient ways would ruin things in my opinion.
Note 2: In terms of timeline while there will be flashbacks and such this will primarily start during season three of BtVS. For the Bourne Franchise this will occur most likely after the Bourne Ultimatum since it'd provide me with the most leeway. For the Mission Impossible movies it'd likely happen after Mission Impossible Three since I'll need the IMF not to be a mess in order for my story to work. As for the Tomb Raider Franchise it'll likely happen a couple of years after the Cradle of Life movie with the adventures from the videogames filling in the time in between the movie and the events in this story.
Note 3: There will be some deviation and manipulation involved since the movies, games and the rest were released at different times. YES there will be conflicts since the various movies featured technology that only came out years after BtVS came to an end as well as other timeline inconsistencies. I would ask that you ignore these conflicts and inconsistencies so that you may enjoy the story I wish to tell. Just consider this an AU where the technologies and events referred to in the movies and games came to pass prior to when this will begin in the BtVS universe.
The Three Edged Blade Best Seen From Afar
An Undisclosed Location
May 1980
"Has there been any progress on locating Doctor Litvenko?" asked the woman sitting in front of a large blue letter E.
"None. Our forces continue to sift through every scrap of information and follow up on any leads that appear to be the least bit credible but thus far nothing of consequence has been gained," a man replied, sitting before a large blue letter N.
"It is infuriating that one man, not even a soldier, managed to not only kill two of the Fathers but also evade capture for more than twenty years," a man sitting before a large blue letter S growled. "As soon as we find him and extract the necessary scientific data from him, I insist that we put him through the most agonizing ordeal we can conceive of!"
"While I agree that he must be punished for his actions against us and the Program, I am afraid that I would have to oppose harming him until we have gotten all that we can out of him," a woman with a slight Russian accent stated from her position sitting behind a large blue letter W. "Regardless of his disloyalty there is no discounting his genius or denying what he could still bring us. Under increased supervision, of course, and perhaps implanted 'loyalty'."
While S-man looked as though he might press his point of view, the others, besides W-Woman, were leaning more in her direction.
So S-Man brought up another point of discussion.
"While it may be true that Litvenko may not have completely outlived his usefulness, that does not change the fact that, without the ability to produce Agents, we are limited in what we can do," S-Man said before pressing a button near his right hand.
In a flash an image projected from a lens in the ceiling appeared on the table, showing pictures and documents. All highlighted operations that were either completed, in progress or ones that would begin at some later date in the future. However what was included in each of the documents showed was the probability of operation success produced by analysts who were VERY good at gathering data, then putting together how it all would most likely come together.
None of the missions were one hundred percent guaranteed to succeed and most of them predicted a significant loss of resources to get the results predicted. Not enough to get them to abandon their goals, whether they were short term in nature or long term, but enough to make them fume with dissatisfaction.
The missions they designated for Agents had a higher probability of success assigned to them however at the moment there were only forty-two of them still alive and combat ready. The others were either dead or were… defective in ways that made their obedience unlikely.
"With only forty-two Agents at our command we are forced to prioritize certain missions over others, even though ALL of them are important to our long term goals," S-Man said as the slide show came to an end. "Relying on mundanes to make up the difference only increases the risk of our existence reaching the various government agencies."
"We are all quite aware of the current state of affairs," E-Lady said, sounding like she'd heard all this before. "However none of the projects we currently have in motion are nearly as promising as the Agent Program. While methods of control are improving along with the equipment our operatives are provided with, the biological variable remains out of our reach."
"Perhaps not," W-Woman said before utilizing the controls close to her left hand. "I was recently approached by one of the scientists I am responsible for. Doctor Maxwell Feynman submitted a project proposal codenamed Golem, wherein the genetic material of two ideal subjects would be combined to create a specimen. That specimen would then be subjected to a series of genetic treatments meant to graft desirable traits from the blood of the greatest assassins, soldiers, thieves and enforcers of our time. Combined with optimum mental and physical conditioning, to say nothing of the training needed to make use of the genetic gifts, Doctor Feynman believes the prototype might well prove SUPERIOR to an Agent."
"A likely story!" S-Man scoffed, clearly unimpressed with the information. "Clearly this brownnoser is attempting to gain your favor through false promises."
"I am no fool. I reviewed his proposal personally and then had it evaluated by one of the surviving Fathers. He verified the accuracy of the information and judged it to be worth exploring," W-Woman said coldly as she glared at S-Man. "The only flaw is that Feynman predicted that the soonest the prototype would be ready for operational use would be fifteen years. Eighteen would ensure no 'unforeseen anomalies'."
S-man clearly didn't like the delay but he also knew just as the rest of them did that, even if they located Litvenko, it would take at least that long to produce a contingent of new Agents. However with the present odds of finding the Russian and the lack of progress being produced by the remaining Fathers, something needed to be attempted. If the prototype of Project Golem proved effective enough they would have a viable alternative to Agents and could reallocate the resources from the search for Litvenko to other vital operations.
It would require some reworking of their timetable to accommodate the production phase of their new assets but they'd been prepared to do this from the moment Litvenko dropped out of sight. All pursuing this project would require would be a little further tweaking of the details to accommodate the additional variables, as well as the expiry dates of certain assets.
"Very well," E-Lady said, deciding to move things to their logical conclusion. "Let us put it to a vote. All in favor of approving Doctor Feynman's project?"
Hands were raised.
"All opposed?" E-Lady asked before waiting for the votes to be cast.
Thus a new page of history was written but, as with many things, only a few would be privy to the words written on it.
June 18th, 1999
Harris House
Xander's POV
"Get down here RIGHT NOW, you worthless waste of SPACE!" came the bellow of one Tony Harris and it made him cringe with dread.
Couldn't he have taken a SINGLE day off from this shit? he thought with a sigh as he walked out of his room, bag with graduation gown inside in hand, to see what he'd done now.
Not that he necessarily needed to do anything to get Tony in an uproar since apparently every time his boss got on his case or the fridge was mysteriously lacking in beer after an all night binge, it was his fault. A normal person would hope that perhaps if one parent was being abusive the other would step in intervene or at least call the cops to get the former put away for life.
Not in his house.
In his house Jessica only occasionally remembered that she was his mother and the rest of the time focused almost entirely on her job. Not that he was entirely against that since, with the sheer number of times Tony got put on suspension for trouble at work, they needed at least one stable source of income. Too bad that stable source of income required that she hop a flight to god knew where to please her bosses, making him wonder more than once that if Jessica was so in demand why hadn't she gotten promoted or something. Normally when people call you up at random times of day asking you to drop everything and go someplace to handle a problem, it means you're pretty good. That usually led to a promotion or a pay raise but he hadn't heard of, much less seen, either happen.
Maybe they're taking advantage of her, knowing she won't say no, he thought as he trotted down the stairs.
Looking at the clock hanging on the wall, he could see that he had a little over twenty minutes to get to the school in time for graduation but with his car he'd get there with time to spare.
Walking into the living room where Tony often was, he was a little surprised to see both Tony and Jessica standing there, looking at him as though they planned on double teaming him. This didn't happen very often, like maybe six times in all the time they'd been in Sunnydale, but it never meant good news for him. Personally he hoped that if he was going to get a beat down that they'd do him the favor of hitting anyplace but the face. The last thing he needed was to give the Scooby gang a clue about his home life right on the doorstep of what'd be their hardest bit of slayage to date. There'd be questions and speculation but, with Mayor McSnake to deal with, they'd have to shelve it for later, leading to everyone being distracted for their own reasons.
"Yes sir," he said in monotone remembering that ANY sign of disrespect would get a punch to the gut from Tony.
"Don't give me that, you poor excuse for a zbraň!" Tony yelled at him, making him cringe.
Indeed he cringed all over at the tone and even closed his eyes, trying in vain to go with the 'out of sight out of mind' approach, but like always it didn't work.
"I know you're goin' on that road trip, shitty waste of time for someone like you, but don't you forget that when you get back you're goin' to the basement," Tony said, sounding like a tyrannical king throwing bread crumbs at a peasant, expecting gratitude to follow. "AND you'll be paying rent: six hundred dollars a month! You don't pay up and you can find somewhere else to live!"
That'd mean he'd need to work at least six hours a day, five days a week, just to pay his 'rent' and if he was now a tenant then he doubted either Jessica or Tony would include food with the deal. Food, clothes, medical bills and anything else like that which existed outside of the minimum obligations of a landlord would be on him to pay on his own. Tack all that on and he was probably looking at somewhere in the region of twenty-five to thirty thousand dollars a year, meaning he'd need a job that paid twice the current minimum wage. Sure, he could probably look for something a little less if he was willing to rob some vamps or have Willy the snitch fence whatever he could 'liberate' from a local tomb, but that was risky. Even with his soldier memories and three years of experience, it was still iffy for him to take on more than three vamps at a time and, given the variety pack they tended to get with demons, it was safe to say that Vegas had better odds.
Guess I'm going to have to cut my road trip short if I want a big enough lead on these two to find a job so I can pay the rent, he thought, straining a bit to keep his displeasure from showing on his face.
"Now get your sorry ass to the school!" Tony bellowed, his perpetual angry look directed at him.
Don't have to tell me twice, he thought as he nodded respectfully before turning towards the door.
He FEVERANTLY hoped that by the time he got back from his road trip that he managed to scrounge up something resembling another option than staying in the basement of the house he grew up in, paying his parents rent. It was bad enough he was forced to pull out all the stops to keep the rest of the Scoobies from finding out how bad his home life really was, but if they found out that he'd been demoted to the basement and had to pay his parents rent… he'd never be able to face them. Even Willow's parents, who were almost never around and thought that giving their daughter free reign so long as she didn't overcharge their credit card, were better than his DNA contributors. Buffy, for all her moaning about not having a normal life, was a lot closer to it than most people with her loving mother and warm home. So what if she had to spend a big chunk of her free time hunting big bads and saving lives? Most people would LOVE for their lives to have that kind of meaning!
That was why he would never stop fighting because it gave his life meaning that would've otherwise been lacking in his life.
Without having met Buffy and founding the Scoobies, he would've been doomed to a pathetic life and probably would've fallen into the bottle the same way Tony and Jessica had.
He would never give up the good fight.
He'd die first.
"Is he out of sight?" he asked from where he stood.
"Yes. He just turned the corner," she replied, letting go of the curtain.
"Then let's get going. We need to get into position before the party starts," he said as he turned towards the door he needed to go through. "We can't miss a thing. It all has to be recorded."
"I know. I was there when the orders were given, too," she said as she followed him.
"Then you know that we can't afford to make mistakes at this most crucial juncture," he said as he opened the door and went through it. "This is what we've been working towards all these years. This is when it either all comes together or gets tossed in the scrap heap."
"Then let's stop wasting time talking about our orders and carry them out," she said as they began going down a flight of stairs.
Sunnydale High School Courtyard
Giles' POV
I pray this works, he thought as he watched Wesley go to join the collection of civilians whose job it would be to form a second front to strike at the Mayor's forces.
The plan was both straightforward yet risky but that was to be expected considering Buffy's personality. The moment the Mayor Ascended the students that'd been armed would cast aside their graduation gowns and form their respective groups with their specific jobs. Xander would then lead the assault using his inherited memories. Two students would utilize improvised flame throwers to keep the Mayor back while others would aim their projectile weaponry at any spot that looked vulnerable. When the Mayor's forces appeared, there was no doubt that they would, they would use the surprise of encountering armed resistance to shake their resolve, causing them to retreat to someplace safe.
And run right into Angel's group made up of some of the students most likely to be able to handle a close quarters fight, as well as Wesley.
This was not, of course, meant to be the way that they would defeat the Mayor but rather a tactic meant to decimate the Mayor's forces enough to safely evacuate the noncombatants while also inflaming the Ascended politician's aggressive emotions. Once the latter was achieved Buffy would use the weakness she discovered during her recovery from significant blood loss to lure the demonic serpent into the school.
That would be where he came in.
The moment he saw Buffy leap exit through the library's rear exit he would press the plunger down, detonating the explosives both homemade and not so homemade. Hopefully the blast would go off right in the Mayor's face with sufficient force to kill him. While it was true that the explosive force of a volcanic eruption had been what killed the last pure demon of this sort, they didn't have the means to match such a catastrophe. The most they had been able to do was gather the necessary material to generate the most potent blast they could and place things in such a way to focus the force inwards rather than outwards. Fire, shrapnel or the shockwave from the detonation would finish off Wilkins either individually or together as a three pronged assault on his demonic flesh.
If God was with them, that would be the end of the man who sought to turn Sunnydale into an all you could eat buffet.
If He was not… then he prayed that Wilkins would be injured enough by the blast to buy the Council time enough to devise a means to finish the job.
Watching from his position of concealment, he could see Willow approaching Buffy's seat before taking on her own and he was glad to see that everyone was now in position.
"Well. What a day this is. Special day. Today is our centennial, the one hundredth anniversary of the founding of Sunnydale. And I know what that means to all you kids," Wilkins said, his voice being thrown forth by the speakers on the stage. "Not a darn thing. 'Cause today something much more important happens. Today you all graduate from high school. Today all the pain and the work and the excitement is finally over, and what's a hundred years of history compared to that?"
Bloody hell! he thought as he realized that the man wasn't going to go through his entire speech.
"But you know what, kids? Maybe the two things are connected. Maybe you have a place in Sunnydale's history, whether you like it or not. It's been a long road getting here, for you, for Sunnydale... there's been achievement, joy, good times... and there's been grief." Richard spoke to the assembled students. "There's been loss. Some people who should be here today, aren't."
It would seem that Buffy's suspicions about Faith being the Mayor's Achilles heel was indeed correct, he thought, hearing the emotion bubbling just beneath the surface of Wilkins' voice.
It'd been a topic of some debate during the planning for this day about how they'd manage to lure the Mayor into the school and to ground zero. No projectile weapon with explosive capacity would do enough damage to the Mayor's ascended form without risking the safety of the students or their parents. They had all agreed that they needed to draw him to a prepared kill zone where the full brunt of their decisive attack could be brought to bear on him.
Fanning the flames with pain before hitting him with taunts only Buffy could manage concerning Faith would certainly serve their purposes nicely.
"But we are. Journey's end. And what is a journey? Is it just distance traveled? Time spent? No," Richard said as he proceeded with his speech, "it's what happens on the way, it's the things that shape you. At the end of the journey, you're not the same. Today is about change. Graduation doesn't just mea your circumstances change, it means you do. You ascend to a higher level. Nothing will ever be the same. Nothing. So as we look back on…"
A pause? Could it be beginning? he thought as he checked to make sure his broadsword was within arm's reach.
"…on the events that have brought us to this day… we…" Wilkins said before a barely suppressed grunt of pain. "We must all… AHHH… It's begun. My destiny. Little sooner than I expected; I had a whole section about civic pride, but… I guess we'll just get to the big finish."
Bellows of pain filled the air only to be replaced by inhuman roars and before long he could see the source as a horrible serpent that could only be at home in hell. Whether that would be a hell dimension or a hell that the Earth had been transformed into he could not say and he prayed he'd never find out.
As planned he watched as gouts of fire shot up from below, causing the somewhat feral Old One to reflexively jerk away from them. Though he was too far away to say for sure, he swore he could see arrows flying through the air but only a random one managed to actually stick into the giant serpent. That was okay. They'd never expected the weaponry at their disposal would be able to do any more than irritate the giant pure demon.
Brrrraapp! Brrap!
My God! Is that gunfire?! he thought in shock as that variable had not even been considered during the planning for graduation.
For as long as they'd been operating on the Hellmouth, the Scoobies had never truly encountered an adversary that made use of firearms outside of that one Tarakan assassin and the werewolf hunter. They had never considered using them because, not only were a great many demonic species immune to gunfire, but the weapons were not exactly subtle. The rocket launcher had been the exception and only because every source they'd consulted had made it clear that no forged weapon could harm the Judge. Thus, since attracting the attention of the Sunnydale Police Department or accidently harming a civilian was not permissible, they exclusively used more low key weaponry.
So who the bloody hell had brought an automatic firearm to a demon slaying!?
He was tempted to leave his post near the detonator in order to investigate but he knew that if he did and Buffy still made the plan work, it would bugger everything up. So he waited and hoped that one of the students who'd agreed to fight for them just had a relative in the military with a fondness for guns and poor firearm safety skills. Gunfire continued to make Swiss cheese out of the air and, judging from the reactions of the Mayor, the bullets were doing significant harm. A few times he could see Wilkins attempt to lunge at the source, only to be forced back by concentrated fire centered on the former human's eyes.
After the fourth attempt by the Mayor the automatic weapon succeeded in destroying the left eye, causing Richard to rear back, giving out an earsplitting roar of pain as purple blood poured from the wound. Eventually, though, hate overturned pain and the demonic snake directed its gaze back towards the likely source of the gunfire, only to apparently have difficulty in locating his attacker. For a split second he thought he saw something sticking out of the Mayor but, before he could narrow his eyes to scrutinize it, the 'something' exploded.
Exploded right about where the nose would be on a dog and bugger did it get a reaction from Wilkins!
Whoever was attacking Richard was specifically targeting the soft spots that were common to creatures with naturally thick or armored skin. Not a poor choice of tactics but he was somewhat skeptical about the overall effectiveness of the attacks. Many demon breeds had regenerative healing that was fully capable of healing wounds right before your eyes. It was one of the reasons why you needed a weapon that could both do damage as well as hamper the monster's ability to heal. If the Mayor had such an ability on the level of an Old One, the attacks at most would buy the perpetrator a minute or less before all their work was reduced to nothing.
That was when Fate decided to deal him another surprise.
Someone, a young man from the looks of it, suddenly appeared on the rooftop before aiming something at Wilkins that spat bits of fire at him, making that man the one who bolluxed up the plan. The gunfire successfully managed to attract the attention of the Mayor, though, and now that the Ascended being's focus was entirely on him. A part of him was pleased at this since it meant that Buffy could perhaps move to aid Angel in dispatching the hired muscle swifter than originally projected. This would hopefully reduce potential casualties enough that only one or two people would die and that he could live with.
However there were two questions that very much needed answering.
First, who was this unknown person who apparently believed that modern weaponry could kill an Old One?
Secondly, would he actually succeed in achieving their objective?
The Rooftop of Sunnydale High School
Xander's POV
Phase one complete, he thought as he continued to move while maintaining engagement of the target. Sight partially disabled and mental state unbalanced. Moving to phase two.
Taking out the BT Delta Tactical Paintball Marker gun, he began to target the intact eye but instead of conventional ammunition the tool fired projectiles filled with a napalm variant. The outer shell was strong enough to survive the initial acceleration but would certainly shatter upon impact, triggering ignition of the compound. The tool didn't have the capacity for many rounds so it would have been inadvisable to utilize it while still on the ground. Now that he was at roughly eye level with the target, the viability and accuracy level were now within somewhat acceptable ranges. Paintballs didn't always fly straight, physics dictated this, but it was close enough for government work and the girls he ran around with. Taking aim he waited until the optimum moment before firing, managing to successfully land almost all the rounds on the undamaged eye. The gelatin-gasoline compound ignited successfully, inflicting ongoing damage to the eye while successfully rendering the target completely blind. Assuming that the target's senses were anything even remotely close to a conventional serpent, his attacks should have left only a limited sense of taste and feeling.
Utilizing stealth movement techniques, he maneuvered himself across the rooftop until he was facing the back of the target's head. Tossing the paintball gun to the side, he moved onto the tools assigned to phase three, which meant a spear gun with a spool of monofilament wire capable of supporting his weight. It also possessed a small motor meant to reel in the line, keeping it tight the entire way but not so strong that he wouldn't be able to fight against it if he applied moderate effort.
Taking a running leap off the roof he fired the gun mid-air and, once it successfully penetrated the skin, the motor began pulling him towards the target. Before the target could react to the pain or conceive of the source he landed, planting both feet while hooking the line onto his belt so he could have both hands free. Reaching to his shoulder harness he pulled out a Desert Eagle before taking precise aim and opening fire, with the intent of seriously compromising the structural integrity of the target area. Once all seven rounds were fired he moved the operation onto phase four by unbuckling the belt of thermite grenades from his body. Going down to one knee he waited until his stance was stable enough before punching his way through the tough outer skin to the soft flesh beneath. Forcefully shoving the grenades as deep as he could, he then did two things simultaneously: he unhooked the wire from the spear gun that was tied to his waist and then leapt to the ground below, dragging the wire that was tied to each of the grenade pins with him.
Letting his knees absorb the impact, he then moved into a roll to take care of the rest. Once he came to a stop in a crouch he looked up just in time to see all six thermite grenades go off, with most of them being beneath the skin at the time. Given the fact that a single thermite grenade was capable of burning clear through tank armor, he was confident that six going off at the same time would be sufficient to make it past whatever natural armor the target might have.
Indeed, instead of another roar or a wail of pain the target simply dropped to the ground even as the thermite began to seek its own exits from the confined space it was in.
Given the lack of biological data on the target beyond vague geological information concerning the termination of another of the same type, he approached while sliding a fresh magazine into the Desert Eagle. Once he was close enough to ensure accuracy while not risking a strategic misstep he took aim at where the brain was most likely to be before opening fire. He placed the shots in order to ensure maximum damage to the cerebral organic matter and did not stop until the weapon was empty.
"Target terminated," he whispered just loud enough for the observation team to hear it with their directional microphone.
He received the countersign via high frequency audio transmitter and, with the conclusion of the operation, he followed S.O.P.
"Well, that went better than I thought it would," he said with no small amount of relief and excitement. "Guess that hypnosis stuff really does work."
Whatever the case, he needed to get to the others and finish mopping up the vamps and demons Wilkins hired to be sheep dogs so his first meal as a pure demon wouldn't get away. Holstering the Desert Eagle he'd liberated from a trophy case at the army base back when they'd stolen the rocket launcher used to kill the Judge, he pulled out a cross and a stake. Nothing fancy but the silver crosses embedded in the stake would make sure that even if he missed, it'd still hurt like a sonuvabitch.
Sprinting across the courtyard, he grinned on the inside as he saw that, while some of the students were hurt, hospital level hurt, none of them were dead. Apparently his bit of insanity had worked out better than he thought considering he only came up with it that morning. Right up until he woke up that morning he'd been willing to go ahead with the original plan but, when he'd reviewed the forces he had to work with, he'd no longer been able to ignore one specific fact: None of the students who'd agreed to fight the mayor had received any combat training whatsoever and were even further behind the curve than the Scoobies were.
Of all the people in the group that'd safeguarded the Hellmouth the last three years, only Buffy, Giles and him had anything even remotely resembling combat training. In all reality it was a miracle that they'd managed to keep things as under control as they had given their lack of training, experience and limited numbers. If he'd followed the original plan they'd have been lucky to make it out with two thirds of their forces alive.
However 'alive' and 'unchanged' were two very different things.
Some would likely come out with scars that would cost a fortune to remove while others might have to drastically alter their lives to compensate for the injuries they'd go home with.
As a result of these thoughts he'd opened up the hidey hole he'd made in the floor of his room to take out his military haul as well as a few odds and ends he'd been working on. He'd never been convinced that the modern age had nothing to contribute to the fight against the darkness so, with his limited expertise, he'd been working on new tools and weapons. The paintball gun with the napalm had been one while the other had been the modified spear gun that he'd originally intended to be a getaway method.
Resourcefulness might as well be a Scooby keyword and he'd proven it.
Arriving at the front steps of the high school campus, he was a little surprised to see that he was officially late to the party. Aside from three vamps who were seconds away from getting staked, there wasn't anything more for him to do so he tucked away the stake and cross, figuring he wouldn't be needed. Once they were sure that everything was copacetic he'd go pick up after himself so the assholes of the S.P.D. wouldn't have anything to work with. While it was possible that with the Mayor gone they'd no longer be looking for excuses to come after the Scoobies, he didn't walk to take any chances.
"Well looks like that's a wrap people!" he said with his lopsided grin and a carefree tone. "Good job!"
"Good job?! Xander what the fuck was that!?" Buffy asked, violently dusting the last vamp before stomping up to him.
Okay, now I know she's pissed, he thought as he took a few steps back. Buffy's a lot of things but a potty mouth isn't one of them. Even when those Council assholes came she kept things PG-13.
"You were like someone out of an action movie!" Willow exclaimed, looking to be an odd mix of angry, dumbfounded and in awe.
"Well… I've kinda been working on some stuff I figured would help out," he said, trying to figure out the right way to reply. "And look! It did!"
"What did you do, Xander?" Giles asked, sounding more rational than Buffy.
"Well, you know how some of soldier boy's memories stuck around after Halloween?" he asked, figuring he might as well start from the beginning.
"Yeah," Willow replied, trying to be less confrontational than Buffy but obviously wanting answers just as badly.
"Well, after how well the whole thing with the Judge went, I figured it might be worth digging around to see if there was anything more inside my head," he said, moving the story along to the next logical step.
"Xander, please tell me you did not attempt to use magic to do the 'digging'," Giles said, taking his glasses off with dread.
"Do I look like an idiot?" he asked rhetorically before seeing Buffy begin to open her mouth. "Don't answer that."
Buffy just fumed and told him with her eyes to hurry up and explain himself.
"I looked up books on hypnosis and spent some of my free time during Miss C's computer classes looking up stuff online. I'm not gonna pretend I understood more than half of it but it seemed straight forward enough after going over it for the hundredth time," he explained, remembering the number of times he'd scratched his head in confusion. "So with a tape recorder and some straightforward suggestions I put myself under and, aside from that one time I missed school a week before exams last year, it worked out pretty good."
He could see that Willow remembered that day but that was hardly surprising considering the fact that his best bud was the most academic focused person he knew.
She even put GILES to shame!
"Still, remembering how soldier boy kicked ass and being able to do it myself were two very different things as I learned last summer. Learned VERY painfully as a matter of fact," he said remembering the muscles he pulled when he'd first tried out one of the things he'd dug up. "So whenever I had free time I worked out to get my body where it needed to be to pull off the moves I now 'knew' without putting myself into a full body cast. Wasn't sure I'd worked out long enough before doing all that but I gotta say I'm feeling pretty good. A little sore in places but nothing some Tylenol won't fix."
"And the guns and stuff?" Buffy asked, both looking as well as sounding a lot calmer than she'd been a minute ago.
"The P90, the Desert Eagle and the thermite grenades I 'borrowed' along with the rocket launcher last year," he replied remembering that night. "The spear gun I improvised with some trial and error along with some stuff from the local hardware store. It's not Batman's grappling gun but it can get someone my size up the side of a building… just at a snail's pace."
"But you were going so fast!" Willow exclaimed in denial, pointing back to where he'd jumped off the roof.
"THAT is how fast you'd go with gravity AND the motor working on you," he said, pointing to the same spot and emphasizing certain words.
The Scoobies seemed to digest what he'd told them, consider the feasibility of it all, but eventually decided to roll with it. Not surprising since fighting the good fight on the Hellmouth taught you that if you took too much time asking questions either out loud or in your head, your odds of survival went down. Sure, being dumb and not thinking at all made your survival zero but, when you were right in the thick of things, you needed to make decisions quickly.
The fact that what he'd done had worked out, no muss and no fuss, probably had a lot to do with their acceptance but he wasn't complaining.
"Very good then. Just try to give us a little more in the way of a heads up before you try something like that again," Giles said, choosing to let the matter drop.
"You got it," he said with a lopsided grin.
A Rooftop Two Blocks Away
"MY what a gullible breed," she said before taking off the headphones and beginning to pack things up. "They actually fell for that line of bullshit."
"Of course they did. His entire personality was designed to make him look like an underachieving slacker," he said as he lowered his binoculars. "Even after orders came down to insert him into the Slayer's group, he was ordered not to stand out or do anything out of character unless absolutely necessary."
"I'm still wondering what the higher ups are thinking leaving the fate of the world in the hands of a bunch of high school kids and a British librarian," she said, pulling the zipper closed.
"Don't worry. I hear those C.I.A. idiots are being prepped to set up a black op here to study and exterminate the local nightlife," he said, putting away his binoculars and shutting down the video camera. "It'll take some time to get some traction but as long as they put someone with chops in charge, the world will be a lot safer and I'll sleep a lot easier."
"So what'll happen now?" she asked as she finished packing the equipment used to observe and record the 'final exam'.
"Well, I don't know about the bosses but I'd say he passed with flying colors," he replied as he put the camera away. "If he can take on an ugly ass snake the size of King Kong without a scratch, everything else is going to be a cake walk for him. I figure they'll take a week to review everything, make sure all the I's are dotted and T's crossed, and then put their stamp of approval on everything."
"And then?" she asked, slinging the bag over her shoulder.
"Then it's bye-bye to Sunnydale for good and hello to his new life," he replied, walking towards the fire escape ladder. "We'll probably be called back a few months from now just to keep things close to the script."
"And if his 'friends' start looking for him?" she asked as she followed him.
"Really? You honestly think those amateurs are going to be able to track him down to the places he'll be going?" he asked, not believing his partner had even asked the questions.
"With things like 'magic' being real, I'm not counting anything out," she replied as she reached the ladder.
"If it looks like they're getting too close, the higher ups will cross them off just like all the others," he said, going down the ladder. "Stuck in the sixteenth century like they are, it'll be easy and who knows? Maybe it'll earn us some brownie points with those old men over in the U.K.; I don't think they like that Summers girl very much."
"No shit, Sherlock!" she declared, following him down the ladder. "Now let's get back to base. We need to record the debriefing and get the paperwork all written up."
"My FAVORITE thing in the whole world!" he said sarcastically, stepping off the ladder.
With that the two unseen observers slipped away as the eclipse brought about by the Ascension began to wear off, restoring the normal level of sunlight for the current time of day.
Undisclosed Location
"Well? Are you convinced now?" W-Woman asked, looking at S-Man with a bit of smugness in her tone.
"It is not often that I am proven wrong but for once I am actually quite pleased that this is one of them." S-Man replied, only exhibiting a small amount of bitterness amidst his dominant approval.
"As are we all," N-Man stated, letting his satisfaction be clearly heard. "Based on available evidence, I think it's safe to say that Project Golem is a smashing success. I doubt the outcome would've been any different had the prototype been pitted against conventional opposition."
"While not as overflowing with confidence as you, I agree that Project Golem has proven itself a viable alternative to the Agent Program. We should still search for Doctor Litvenko, if only to ensure he doesn't fall into undesirable hands, but I see no reason why mass production cannot begin now that Feynman's prototype has proven itself," E-Lady stated, looking at each of her colleagues in turn. "Time will, of course, be a factor but now that we have a proven success to work with, we can adjust the timetable to optimize our progress rate."
Indeed, with their superior experience and resources, it wouldn't take much to put all their plans back on schedule.
"Regardless, we should give the order to recall the prototype to the Nevada facility. Until the next batch is ready to deploy, we'll only have the one to utilize in our plans." W-Woman said, having had her fill of vindication.
"Then let's give it," E-Lady said with a smile. "Our weapon has quite a few assignments to work through."
A Cave in the Middle of the Nevada Desert
Why did it have to be ME?! he thought as he carefully entered the cave located at the X on the map he'd been given.
Sure, he belonged to a clan of demon that'd been indebted to Mayor Wilkins for decades for granting them sanctuary on the Hellmouth, as well as telling the other nonhuman residents not to harm them. Sure, they were part of a species of demon that culturally and magically were bound to hold their end of any bargain up, even if they didn't want to later on.
But WHY did it have to be HIM that delivered the message!?
It'd been less than six hours ago that it'd been confirmed that Richard Wilkins the first, second and third had been killed immediately after Ascending to full demon status. While some of his clan had been happy to finally be rid of the evil human, the elders had quickly reminded them of the stipulation in their agreement with the deceased warlock that they now had to obey.
What stipulation? The one that had him on the front doorstep of one of the most feared mind magic users in North America, that's what stipulation!
The stipulation stated that in the event of him dying by unnatural means, aka murder, they were to notify the being in this cave of what'd happened and more precisely who had to die. It basically all boiled down to getting the last laugh on the person who ruined what was supposed to be the crowning achievement of the man's hundred year reign on the Sunnydale Hellmouth. One would think that the payback would just be the hiring of the best assassins the Order of Teraka had or some curse keyed to activate upon the ceasing of all life signs, but apparently that was too boring for Wilkins. Instead the warlock wanted the occupant of this cave to find the person most responsible for his death and then lock them into their worst nightmare for the rest of their lives. Awake? Asleep? It wouldn't matter in the end. It wouldn't be nonstop torture either way since going that way would desensitize the mind, being tortured sooner rather than later ruining the objective of the vengeance altogether. No, instead it would apparently be keyed to specific environmental and emotional criteria in order to achieve maximum effect.
Stories had been told of the cave dweller's past victims and it'd been enough to cause all but the most sadistic demons to shiver with fear.
He'd heard more than a few of those stories and that was why he hated that he'd been selected by the elders to deliver the information.
Why hadn't he just said 'fuck it' and refused you might ask? Because every member of his clan, the moment they were old enough speak as well as understand, took an oath of loyalty to the clan and obedience to the clan elders. As such he was bound both by the culture he'd been raised to believe in and by the magic inherent in his species to do as they ordered. So even if he were to somehow overcome the magic forcing him to obey the order, he'd be exiled the moment he got back if he didn't follow the order.
So basically he was fucked one way or another.
Let's just get this over with! he thought as he continued deeper and deeper into the darkness of the cave.
The map, thankfully, included not only a rough layout of the cave but also provided the number of steps you needed to take to reach the mind warlock.
Step by step he went, frequently checking the map if only to provide some kind of distraction from all the story tidbits that kept popping up in his mind. Time ceased to have meaning for him so he had no idea whether he'd been walking for two minutes or two hours, but eventually he came upon an eerie blue flame that was his destination. Looking about he tried to look for anything humanoid, anything that might be the mind mage, but he could see nothing and this fact only added to his fear.
"Hello? Are you here? I have a message for you!" he yelled in the hopes that he could get the whole affair over with as quickly as possible.
"What message?" spoke a voice that was neither human or confined to any one direction.
"'If you are hearing this message, old friend, then I am dead. Whether or not it happened after my plans reached fruition is immaterial. A hundred years of hard work ruined cannot be allowed to go unpunished,'" he replied, speaking the message precisely as it had been conveyed to him. "'Therefore I call upon you to see to it that the person responsible for my death is suitably punished. Do so and I will consider your debt to me paid in full. I leave the details of the punishment to you. All that I ask is that it not be lethal and that it be tailored to fit the person. Farewell, old friend.'"
That was the message.
However he did not leave for he feared breaking some unknown protocol he was unaware of, so he waited to be told he could leave. When a minute passed with nothing being spoken, he could not stand the silence any longer.
"May I leave now?" he asked, unable to keep the fear out of his voice.
"No. There is one more thing I need of you," the voice said ominously.
"What?" he asked, frantically trying to think of what else could possibly be required of him.
His reply came not in the form of words but rather via his sense of touch and his ability to feel pain. Touch came when he felt a pair of the coldest hands he had ever had the displeasure to feel pressed themselves up against either side of his head. The pain came next and it flowed over him like a tsunami, shattering coherent thought as easily as the real wave did concrete. It was pointless to even try to reassemble the thoughts when faced with such a force of nature and made moot as bit by bit the pieces of his mind were devoured.
Devoured by an unseen predator until nothing but a void remained where once a sparkling mind once dwelt.
The Highway Heading in the General Direction of Oxnard
Xander's POV
Your training is now complete. Henceforth you shall be known as Agent Grimm. You are ordered to leave Sunnydale under the cover of the previously discussed cover story of a road trip and travel to the Nevada facility. There you will be properly outfitted and receive your first assignment. You are to maintain your cover while en route and not do anything to attract attention to yourself.
Those were his orders.
He received them from his handlers upon returning to the safe house.
In response he had begun to pack the necessary items to maintain the 'high school student' cover, as well as any other equipment that fell under the category of sensitive material. His handlers would handle the rest but it would be efficient to try to smuggle out as much as possible, as soon as possible. While the eyewitnesses might have accepted the cover story, he provided there was still the matter of the potential consequences for killing Mayor Wilkins. According to the answers to his inquiries, his superiors had entered into an agreement with the man for permission to conduct his training in his territory in exchange for aid in keeping certain agencies blind and deaf.
It was a safe assumption that terminating the man would be seen as a violation of the agreement.
As such it was only logical to relocate immediately for a more secure environment while also removing anything that could be used to trace the safe house to the organization. He would not put so much into his bags that they would be visible on the surface but he would do what he could to help expedite the termination of the organization's presence in Sunnydale. The remaining hardware that was too big to conceal would be extracted via trucks disguised as commercial moving vehicles under cover of night. The operatives handling that would be fully briefed on the hostile inhabitants of the town and armed as well as could be permitted without breaking their cover. If extraction of the sensitive hardware could not be completed, it would be destroyed and a plausible cover story established.
It wouldn't be difficult. They'd had years of practice and experience in such matters.
As he saw the sign for the off ramp to Oxnard, he determined that it would be in character for his cover to stop for snack food and drinks before continuing onwards. While he had not detected anyone tailing him since his departure from the safe house, his orders concerning his cover were clear so he activated the turn signal and turned onto the off ramp.
It took only a few moments to reach the first visible convenience store and, as he walked towards the entrance, he began to make a list of items he could both afford as well as consume before reaching the Nevada facility.
"AAAHHHH! HELP ME! HELP!"
A voice, female, requesting assistance and by his reckoning the voice was coming from the alley next to the store. He pulled out the stake and cross he had that was standard equipment for dealing with vampires and effective even against other demon breeds, gripping both tightly. Moving into the alley with the skill level consistent with his civilian personae, he looked for the woman in need of help as well as what threatened her. He could hear the sounds of the woman whimpering and crying in fear but as yet could not see anything of note.
A thought occurred to him that this might be a trap that was utilizing the heroic traits of his civilian identity as the bait but, even if that were the case, he could not deviate from his present course of action. It would be seen as too out of character for 'Xander Harris' to ignore a cry for help or withdraw before a more obvious sign of a trap presented itself. Carefully looking at each possible hiding spot for an attacker as he progressed, he also searched for the woman so he could assess her medical condition before moving her to a safer location.
It was only as he reached the end of the alleyway without a single woman to be had or a potential threat that it was confirmed that he had indeed been lured into a trap.
He had to vacate the area immediately before the cause of his current situation sprung the trap.
Turning around, he found his primary means of retreat blocked by a humanoid figure in a dark robe, a hood obscuring the face. However from what little was revealed of the person beneath it was a safe bet that they weren't human and that was corroborated by the method used to lure him into the alley. However, without knowing the species, it would be difficult to determine the most expedient means of terminating the threat, so he would be forced to improvise. One variable in his favor, though, was the fact that the alleyway would provide sufficient obstructions that he would be able to deviate from the Xander Harris personae without risking his cover.
"Is there a problem?" he asked casually as he tried to get a feel for how his opponent would move.
"Yes, but it is one easily remedied," the figure replied with a rasp.
"Oh? How's that?" he asked, trying to stall for more time.
"Die," The figure replied before thrusting a hand forward and releasing a ball of light.
Dropping the limitations of the Xander Harris personae completely he reoriented his body while throwing the wooden stake towards the figure's chest where the heart might be. For a moment it looked like it would be his first and his last necessary move but, right when the weapon should've begun penetrating flesh, the figure disintegrated into a cloud of ash before fading away.
A vampire? No. The stake had not penetrated enough to pierce the heart and there was usually a two second delay between puncturing the heart and turning to dust.
Teleportation? Possible and, given the speed at which the stake was thrown, the figure had greater than human perception and reflexes. Not a good combination for an opponent to have. However it made him wonder why the hostile had allowed himself to be seen when its objective was his termination. It would've been far more efficient to attack him from behind with a knife to the heart. Was it a cultural requirement for the nonhuman to make his intentions known before attacking? Delivering such information from concealment would have been more strategically sound since it would've made retaliation unlikely. The only answer he could come up with was that the figure was confident that he didn't need to take such measures in order to achieve his objective.
It was after all a fairly consistent trait among nonhuman threats that they tended to dismiss most humans as threats.
An error he would gain satisfaction in correcting with this being.
Above all, though, removing himself from the kill zone the hostile had lured him into was paramount since there was no way of knowing what dangers had yet to be revealed. With steady and precise steps he began to go back the way he came, keeping every sense alert for signs of his attacker's presence. For someone who could teleport, he likely would have less than three seconds to counter any attack, so the time between perception and counterattack had to happen within two seconds. Without his stake, though, he was limited to either using his cross or close quarter combat techniques.
Not good enough.
With a teleporter he had no way to know where the hostile would appear or when, much less if, there was any interval between the use of that ability or not. If the hostile could use the ability at any time or even abort a teleport if it placed him in danger, then his death was a matter of time. The only way to overcome his current situation was to somehow control where the hostile could appear so that he would have enough time to see and react.
Looking about the alley, he tried to find something he could use to his advantage and immediately spotted two that'd do nicely.
Moving first to a metal pipe secured to a nearby wall, he used all the strength he had to tear it off but it wasn't to use it as a weapon against the hostile. Instead he threw it like a spear to the rooftop water tank on the building next to the convenience store. Made of wood it was successfully pierced by the pipe, causing the contents to begin pouring out, soaking the stone surface of the alley. The water spread outwards from the point of impact but by that point he was moving towards the second element of his plan: a cable that, based on is composition, likely channeled electricity to the convenience store. Pulling the cable out of its socket, he hopped on a nearby wooden box that looked to be capable of holding his weight before dropping the exposed wiring onto the soaked ground. If his plan worked the hostile would not be able to appear anywhere within his immediate vicinity without being electrocuted. Based on the estimated maximum range of the water flow, his enemy would have to appear closer to the mouth of the alley or on the rooftop's above.
Neither would be conducive to using bladed weaponry and even the energy projectile he'd been attacked with previously would be reduced in effectiveness.
He was fully capable of dodging both with little need to reposition his feet and the box provided him with sufficient room.
With his move made he waited for the first sign of the hostile knowing he'd likely have only one chance before his enemy adapted to the new circumstances fully. If the figure thought to blow up the box he stood upon he'd be electrocuted. If the enemy proved capable of a larger scale projectile attack it would make dodging impossible. If the hostile simply waited until someone cut the power, his plan would be neutralized.
Thus his nerves were sharp and his awareness of his surroundings as close to total as possible.
The instant he sensed a presence that was not civilian or even human he threw the cross at it, knowing that the sharp point he'd carved into the bottom was strong enough to pierce flesh. He was betting that the likely momentary disorientation that accompanied the teleportation would buy him half the time he needed while reacquiring his position would do the rest. He'd made sure to aim for where the right eye socket would be since, even if it did not succeed in killing the nonhuman, the hostile would be incapacitated until the cross was removed and regeneration was completed, if there was regeneration at all. There probably was; he wasn't that lucky.
The fact that the cross had been stopped less than an inch from the target's eye by some unseen force confirmed that good luck was a limited quantity with him.
"An admirable effort," the figure said, the cross hovering backwards a foot, lazily rotating in place, "but futile."
As if to press this point home the figure walked forward and, instead of convulsing in pain when he came into contact with the electrified water, there was nothing.
Instead of wasting precious minutes with denial he began analyzing what he'd just witnessed and added the results to his knowledge of the situation. There had been no visible source for the cross' unexpected deceleration so that meant unseen. Of all the unseen sources he was aware of, magic was one, with telekinesis being another. However this didn't match what happened during his first attack because in that exchange the figure had more than enough time to see it coming. There would have been no need to teleport if the stake could so easily have been caught mid-air. Also, the ability to be impervious to significant electrocution brought up the question of why the figure had taken so much time before approaching him.
While it was possible that these inconsistencies could be explained away as required preparation time or psychological warfare, he didn't think so.
All of his actions up to this point had been spontaneous and at best gave the hostile ten seconds to figure out what he had planned. To anticipate his actions sufficiently to prepare like this, long term surveillance would have been necessary and, aside from his sanctioning of the Mayor of Sunnydale, he had never openly used his skills to the fullest. Also, if there had been surveillance agents following him around, his handlers or their superiors would have sensed something and issued a warning.
Just then he heard a cackle and out of the corner of his eyes something loped out of sight, only letting him catch a glimpse of something on four legs.
That was it.
It explained everything.
However a test was required and so he closed his eyes bringing forth his considerable focus before he willed the electricity to coalesce and rise up from the ground in the form of a snake. Using his will and focus like the source of power it was, he was unsurprised when he saw a crackling serpent rise up off the ground just like he wanted. Given that he had never before exhibited magical ability, something that'd been attempted once the discipline had been confirmed as real, there was only one explanation.
"We're in my mind," he stated as he stepped off the box, not feeling even a little bit electrified.
"Indeed and a most unique mind it is, Alexander Harris," the figure said before the cross winked out of existence. "We've been here from the moment you stepped into the alley and out of the sight of any witnesses. You see, I needed time to map out your neural pathways, so I've allowed you to believe that you were still in the real world. That is the reason your first attack caught me by surprise and why I waited to reveal myself again."
"Why haven't you killed me, then? I imagine it would be quite easy for you to do in here," he said as he tried to devise a means to gain the advantage.
"You mean my earlier comment? That was a distraction and it would be far too quick an end to clear my debt to Richard Wilkins," the figure said, coming to a stop ten feet away. "He requested that your punishment be non-lethal and tailored to who you were. Now that I've had time to familiarize myself with your mind, I believe I have just the punishment for you."
"If you knew my mind so well, why did you let the Hyena Primal alert me to the truth?" he asked, referring to the spirit that had possessed him and left an echo behind.
"That shadow? It is no threat to me and its warning came too late," the hostile replied, sounding unconcerned and dismissive.
It was an admirable attempt at bluffing but he had been trained well in spotting the signs of someone speaking falsely.
"No. She did succeed in warning me in time," he said as he began to walk towards the figure. "In fact I would wager that you haven't gotten all the control codes to my mind just yet, otherwise I wouldn't have been able to manipulate the environment."
"Believe what you will, Mister Harris," the figure said, maintaining the easy composure. "The time has come for you to pay for killing my 'old friend' and it is a punishment that will have you both begging to be slain and killing anyone who tried to oblige you."
"We'll see about that," he said before he brought his will to bear again, utilizing it to alter his position in the current mindscape.
In the blink of an eye he was behind the figure and well within arm's reach.
Bringing up both arms he attempted to get a grip on the figure's head so that he could snap the hostile's neck. However before he could lock in his grip the enemy vanished again, reappearing a dozen feet away. He didn't let it say a word as he teleported again but unlike before he made his mental self reappear above his target before accelerating his body downwards, an axe kick ready. The figure managed to dodge this as well but a brief glimpse past the hood told him that the hostile had not anticipated the current development. Even as he willed the fragments of concrete he'd shattered up into the air before propelling them at his enemy, he surmised that mapping a mind wasn't the same as reading it. The hostile possessed a map of roads but no labels to tell him the names of each road or their individual history. At most the figure could probably read surface thoughts or get brief glimpses of a target's next action before it happened for real.
Certain in these conclusions, he factored them into the strategies and tactics he'd been taught in the sub-basement of the safe house.
Picking up the pace of his attacks he attempted to use every element of his surroundings, randomly changing the vectors the assaults would come from. At least it would appear to be random to someone with only a few moments to think at a time, but the truth was more calculated. Every attack was meant to chip away at the hostile's defenses while maneuvering the figure right where he wanted him. It was one of the most repeated lesson he'd been taught: always control the battle. Never allow your opponent to dictate the pace of the battle. Make them dance to your tune and only let them realize this when knowing will not affect the final outcome.
It was about two minutes later that all the variables fell into place and, with a ruthless gut punch motion, he slammed a mass of stone into the figure's stomach, this time connecting and sending the hostile to the ground. He didn't stop there; with a field goal kick the ground beneath the enemy shot upwards, right into the five streams of elements streaked downwards towards the target. Narrowing his eyes in order to confirm impact, he was satisfied to see that the five streams struck successfully, sending his foe through the ground that sent him skyward.
Ending the assault he approached the figure that'd been sent by Mayor Wilkins as a form of retaliation from beyond the grave but he never let down his guard. While he might have fared better than he'd initially projected, he would not stand down until he was certain that his foe's threat was ended. From what he could see his attacks had done harm to the figure's mental self, for it was exhibiting many of the similar symptoms of injury a physical body would. Whether it would be enough to kill it, he did not know.
"I… did not think it… possible…" the figure said, pausing to draw in additional strength. "A man… with no experience… in the mental arts… coming this far in… minutes… amazing…"
"I've always been a fast learner," he said, standing less than three feet away from his foe. "Now release me from your power. You're in no condition to accomplish your mission and keeping me here would violate the terms of your repayment to Wilkins."
" Perhaps…perhaps you're right…" the figure said with a rueful grin on his face.
Instinct flared with warning but, before he could do anything, the hostile vanished from before him and a second later fingers pressed themselves to either side of his head.
"Then again perhaps not!" the figure hissed into his ear even as he was assailed in a manner that fractured coherent thought. "You should have finished me when you had the chance!"
With those final words the mental landscape around them shattered like it'd been made from cheap glass before beginning to swirl around them like the inside of a tornado. If he had been coherent he might have spotted that each fragment had a scene playing out on it. Had his mind the ability to fully register what was going on, it would have registered wisps of emotion that had before now been felt on a more detached level. Sadly, whatever the hostile was doing it had taken him so completely by surprise that marshaling his will and his focus was like trying to wrap your fingers around water.
"In the name of the debt owed to Mayor Richard Wilkins, I so punish you, Alexander Harris!" the figure yelled into his ear. "What was once two shall merge to become a new whole! What once brought you great satisfaction will be dangled in front of you forever just out of reach! You shall never know true peace but rather a life of regrets and bitter sadness! Only when you are reunited with the source shall your torment come to an end! SO I HAVE SPOKEN SO SHALL IT BE! SO SHALL IT BE! SO! SHALL! IT! BBBEEEEE!"
All at once the fragments that had been swirling around streaked towards the two of them until it felt as though they would be crushed into fragments themselves.
Then it was all gone and he felt like a puppet whose strings had been cut, causing him to fall to the ground, his mind too much of a mess to do more than bring his arms up to cushion his fall. Breathing hard like he'd just run a marathon at twice the recommended speed he pushed himself onto his back as he tried to make sense of everything. The alleyway next to the convenience store was back and somehow he knew that this was the real deal rather than some telepathic illusion. When he tried to think of what to do next, he was pushed back into confusion as two answers came to him, feeling like they'd come from two different people rather than from his own mind. One was telling him to get into his car and head back to Sunnydale to get help from Giles but the other was telling him to get the encrypted cell phone from his bag and call in what'd happened to his superiors. Both felt like they'd come from him but at the same time… not.
In the end he came to the decision that he needed to first get away from Oxnard and find someplace to hole up where he could regain his equilibrium and figure out what the HELL had just happened.
What the hell happened and what the future held for him now.