Prologue:
He's anxious. Time is running short and there are things still left to be done.
He's been waiting for him for a little over ten minutes but it feels like far too much time. The blood inside his mug's already cold and he's tapping the top of the desk with his pen frantically. Immortals comprehend eternity. Patience, regardless of the individual's inclination towards good or evil, is a virtue they all work hard to learn, perfect.
As a soulless murderer he played with his victims' fears. He prowled the nights stalking their every move, lying in wait, destroying their livelihood and murdering their loved ones just to drive them into madness. Haste in his deeds was never his way. Patience, on the other hand, was the key for reaching that one moment of ethereal bliss that came with each kill.
Murder for him could not be random. It had to be perfectly executed. He'd kill thousands over the course of his one-hundred and fifty year-long rampage, but only a select few, to his consideration and quite possibly his untamable ego, were truly his victims.
He was an artist, or so he led himself to believe. He was an invisible wrath that lay waste to hundreds upon hundreds of lives, destroying every single element of what made them special, unique. He prolonged death as much as he could bear it and could no longer restrain his satisfaction. Such darkness shrouded his life that he was eventually cursed.
His soul was returned to him and with it all the pain that he had caused to thousands of people tenfold, only to be released of it when he experienced a single moment of perfect happiness. Ashamed and reeling from unrelenting suffering he hid himself from humanity. Feeding on vermin and dwelling on dark alleys until one day a stranger came to him with a mission: to protect a girl, a very unique being that needed his help. The Slayer.
His life after that night has taken many turns. He fought by her side, a cursed demon alongside the Chosen destroyer of all demonkind on Earth, and he loved her, even after the day they parted ways. It was at this point where he was called unto a new mission. He became a Champion, fighting for beings of untold power. So ancient were these beings that they transcended the confines of names, and were quite simply known as the Powers-That-Be.
He fathered a child, a son born of his seed with that of another vampire, Angel's Sire, Darla. A child whose very role, very existence was determined and molded by one of the Powers a millennia before. A child that now lives seemingly unknowing of the truths of his origins.
Angel, however, continues his battle. After living a century and a half of abhorrent and abominable deeds, he dedicated himself entirely to fight for redemption until the day he came to the realization that the effort was misguided and decided to fight not for himself, but for every living soul on the planet. To show the world that it can be great.
So, it is remarkably easy to tell that a vampire like Angel knows the virtue of patience, even though at the moment he may seem entirely incapable of showing any.
The doors to his office open and a small breath of relief escapes from his mouth. Two men approach his desk. The one walking ahead sits in one of the seats opposite Angel. He looks at him and a small hint of disgust washes on his face. Angel opens a red-colored folder in front of him and passes it to the man before him. He takes it and goes through the contract inside.
"Everything we discussed before is already in there," says Angel in a cold tone. "Just the way it's supposed to be."
The man looks at him but says nothing.
"All I need is your signature and we're good to go."
The man flips rapidly through the pages and sets the contract down on the desk. He takes a pen, signs and initials it. Then, using a letter-opener sitting by, he makes a shallow cut in his right thumb and presses the bloody fingerprint lightly beside his signature.
As he retreats his finger the droplet of blood vanishes, as if it melted away into the sheet. Angel picks up the contract, closes the folder and places it on top of a pile of case-files.
"Thank you," he says with a sigh. "See to her; you're free to go. Just be here after sunset."
The man nods and rises from his seat. He turns for the door and his eyes catch those of the man standing behind him for a second. He looks back at Angel then walks hurriedly out of the office, followed by the second man.
Angel waits a moment in his seat. He taps his desk with all of his fingers as his eyes dart across its surface. He presses a button on his telephone and after a few moments a cheery, sickly sweet voice fills his ears.
"Yes, boss?" says Harmony.
"Did they leave?" he says in a quiet tone.
"You mean--? Yeah, just took the elevators."
"Good. Send a message to everybody in the building. Tell them to take the day off."
"Day off? That includes me?"
"Harmony..."
"Oh, you mean...today's the, y'know... the thing?"
"Yeah..."
He remains quiet for a moment, then picks up his mug and drains the contents on a nearby garbage can.
"Bring me some blood before you go," he says and presses the same button he did before.
He stands up and walks towards the windows. It's still early.
Much to do before nightfall.