A DIFFERENT KIND OF CHOSEN
Chapter Two
Author's Note:
We started off in Season 4, Episode 3 "Harsh Light of Day". She's taken the Gem of Amara from Spike, but instead of sending it to LA with Oz, she stores it in her weapons chest. A chipped vampire attacked her and was thoroughly dusted while on Patrol right before commandos from the Initiative tasered her into unconsciousness.
Warning:
I plan for this story to get very dark in parts. The Buffy as we know her will barely exist but still pop up in her mannerisms and thought processes, just a little bit more on the evil side. It will contain plenty of cursing, violence, and sex. Read at your own risk and enjoy!
Disclaimer:
Sadly, I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or any characters from the show. It, along with some quotes that may be used from future episodes belongs to Joss Whedon and company and I make know money from the writing of this story. Grrr! Argh!
Chapter Two
A Different Kind of Hostile 17
A frustrated sigh left Giles' lips. The current Scoobies, consisting of Anya, Giles, Oz, Willow, and Xander, were huddled over the Watcher's coffee table, a large map of Sunnydale spread before them.
"Listen, G-Man. Maybe Spike came back after Buffy's phone call?" Xander's voice broke the unmanageable silence.
Anya nodded quickly beside her boyfriend, "I agree with Xander."
A look of horror crossed Willow's face as she snuggled closer to Oz, taking comfort in the way he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She pushed her face into his chest and began taking deep breaths to calm herself.
Giles watched the exchange and tried to put an end to those horrible thoughts. "If Spike was to have visited Buffy again and she was to have," a strangled choking sound left his throat before he continued hoarsely, "met her end, the underworld would have heard about it by now." He nodded his head, taking comfort from his own words. "With no Slayer on the Hellmouth, the town would be in an uproar with demon activity. I have to believe she's still alive. It's certainly not the first time she forgot to check in after a night of patrolling."
Xander thought for a quick moment before putting his last two cents into the conversation. "If the Buffster did end up fighting Spike again, maybe she's not dead. Maybe she's just hurt and holing up somewhere?"
Another wave of silence crashed over the group, the startling realization that their friend could be seriously injured out in the woods making them all feel nauseous.
Willow's face turned a new shade of green at the sickening thought, but she pulled away from Oz's chest. "I-If she's hurt, it's been over a day. We need to find her. Giles…"
Her eyes shifted to the man, his name coming out more like a plea than anything else. He knew she was right. Their window was rapidly closing and he was determined to find his Slayer if it were the last thing he did.
- • -
Buffy's eyes opened slowly, a hazy film clouding her vision. She began making an inventory of her senses and body parts. Her hearing seemed to be fine as she listened to the light hum of fluorescent lights and movement to her right. She flexed her muscles subtly, not wanting her kidnappers to know of her awakened state. Everything seemed to be in working order and intact, but there was a heavy feeling in her chest, like having something hold you down.
The one thing that truly startled her was her clothing, or lack thereof. She was bare, exposed for the world to see aside from a very stiff sheet that left very little to the imagination.
The film that obstructed her perfect vision began to lift slightly and she took in her surroundings. To the naked eye the room looked like any other hospital room, but even less personal if that was manageable. The first thing she noticed was the walls. Their stark white color made the lights above reflect and caused a blinding sensation like staring at the sun. There were stainless steel countertops on top of more stainless steel cabinets lining three of the four walls, making the entire room feel like a surgeon's heaven.
The sound of a metal tool being set down on top of the steel countertop had her eyes jerking to her right. There stood a figure, easily recognized as a woman by her slimmer frame, but with short dirty blonde hair. A surgeon's mask covered her facial features, but her voice sounded faintly familiar to Buffy's cloudy mind.
A small recorder was held up to the woman's covered lips. "Hostile 17 resumed consciousness at 0630, 32 hours after capture." So much for not giving away that she was finally awake. She stopped speaking and dropped the recorder to her side, quickly flashing a small light into Buffy's eyes.
The action made her head pound and she quickly closed her lids to keep the intrusion from happening again. As she slowly opened them back up, more afraid of what might happen when they were closed then another round of blind the Buffy, she watched as the flash light was placed down and the recorder brought back up.
"Showing signs of alertness and increasing brain activity."
Buffy tried to speak, growing increasingly agitated with herself when the action failed to happen. Her tongue was thick from sleep and, from what she guessed, drugs. The only noise she managed to produce sounded like a drunken, slurred version of 'what'. But a simple 'what' wasn't enough. She had questions; plenty of them.
Who was Hostile 17? Not me. I'm not hostile. Well… not unless someone or something gets all hostiley first.
How did she get here? Oh! That's right! Goons in green tasered me to death. Stupid goons. Stupid goons with tasers of doom. She thought bitterly.
And where was here, exactly? Obviously some mad scientist's lab of torture. Torture… The word, even only spoken in her head, made her queasy.
Seeing as she found herself answering her own questions, she decided to give up on making her voice work. Instead she wanted to save her strength to plan an escape. There was always a way, an opportunity; she just had to find it.
A quick prick in the crease of her elbow made her eyes widen followed by a slow burn up her arm. Her line of sight landed on the woman as the foggy cloud slowly crept back.
"Buffy Summers, Hostile 17." The woman seemed to be speaking to her directly this time, no recorder in site. "Right under my nose this whole time. Extraordinary. We'll be testing you, pushing you to your limits."
The voice took on an unusually excited tone, but it was for naught; Buffy felt her body become heavier, her vision clouding so rapidly that it was just easier to close her eyes.
The worse part of the entire thing? She accepted the changes in her body; welcomed the rest it would bring her from the bizarre Frankenstein movie she found herself in. The last thing that touched her consciousness was "I need to know what makes you tick," before darkness swallowed her.
- • -
This time, Buffy's eyes opened with a start. She instantly realized she was no longer weighted down and felt a small amount of hope bloom in her chest.
If I can move, I can fight. And if I can fight, I can escape.
But her small hope was dashed quickly when she took in her new surroundings. The surgical room was replaced by nothingness. Four simple walls, of the same stark whiteness as before, surrounded her. This time, however, there were no stainless steel accessories; therefore she had no possible weapons.
The Slayer, known to her captors as Hostile 17, sighed heavily. As her eyes roamed the room she realized, much to her relief, that her nakedness was now covered by a gown seemingly made of the same stiff material of her previous sheet. The only downside was that it still offered little to the imagination.
She stood from her position on the floor, stretching and flexing muscles that felt like they hadn't been used in days. Her body seemed to be in working order and her strength felt top-notch. The new discoveries of her body pleased her, but caused her to wonder just how long she had been out of it.
After deciding not to dwell on lost time, she began circling the small room. Hands ran up and down the solid walls, looking for any seams or means of escape.
Just as she was finishing her rounds, coming to the end of the fourth wall with no difference on the surfaces, the voice from before penetrated the silence in the room.
"Hostile 17."
Her head jerked away from her task at hand, looking for the source, but came up short. Due to the enclosed area, the noise reverberated and seemed to come at her from all directions.
"As you know, my friends call me Buffy."
"Hostile 17." The voice repeated, ignoring her comment and causing her to roll her eyes. "This will be a test of your strength and skill."
The wall across from Buffy began to open. The entire wall shifted backwards slightly, causing the air in the room to suction towards the disturbance, before it slid to the right. A demon, fairly large compared to her, was pushed through, stumbling into the stark room.
"Sub-T 67119 demon-class, Polgara species."
Said demon jerked its bulky head around, pushing itself back up against the wall it was shoved out of.
"This is your objective. Kill or be killed."
Weather the Polgara demon understood her words were a mute point to Buffy once it lunged its scaly body in her direction.
She dodged around its frenzied attacks, feeling oddly constricted in the stiff gown. Despite her abnormal apparel, she managed to land a kick, shoving her foot solidly against the demon's bare chest.
The demon retaliated ten-fold, sending her cares of flashing the world her goods out the window. It reached its arm out to the side and flexed its hand while Buffy watched in slight horror as a skewer protruded from its wrist.
"So much for being a fair fight," she muttered.
As the skewered arm swung towards her head, she ducked underneath, reaching up in time to grab the extended piece. The sharpness of the edge bit into her palm, but she quickly brought it down over her knee, snapping it from its connection on the wrist.
The Polgara demon howled in pain, jerking its right arm back and cradling it to its chest. With a weapon now in hand, Buffy took to the offensive, smashing her closed fist into its face, pushing it back into the wall with a second swift kick to its chest, and then shoving the skewer through its belly.
Its cry bellowed, echoing through the room before it died out and the body hung loosely on the wall, only held in place by its own weapon.
Just as Buffy finished wiping the small sheen of sweat from her brow, the wall opened again with another demon was pushed through.
"Sub-T 67119 demon-class, Bohg'dar species" Its eyes locked onto Buffy instantly and she shivered. Its appearance reminded her of a dinosaur. Three large horns protruded from its head with folds of fat taking up every inch of its body. Despite its appearance, she could tell it would be strong and deadly if she took the large claw-like talons for fingers as any sort of clue.
The Bohg'dar demon attacked without any hesitation, swinging its meaty arms at her with no preamble. After realizing how much slower it moved, she began to dodge the attacks with ease, hoping to tire out the demon and make the kill much easier.
The kill? Since when did I start seeing slaying as 'the kill'?
Her brief musings were nearly her down fall as the demon landed a particularly painful blow to her ribs, ripping the thin material of her gown with ease. She felt the warmth of her blood trickling down her side until it reached the floor, but didn't have time to check the wound as it shoved her up against the wall beside her previous victim.
Horn head was readying to make a final blow to her chest. Adrenalin spiked her blood, eyes darted around the room frantically as she fell into fight or flight mode. Just as the Bohg'dar demon was about to slam its talons down, she jerked the skewer out of the body beside her, hearing in the back of her mind as the reptilian like body fell into the pool of its own purple toned blood. Her arm swung before her mind had time to register and she watched with rapt fascination as the skewer plunged into the fat folds of the demon's neck, exiting the other side just as quickly.
Its eyes opened widely, stunned at the move that was performed before it stumbled back, releasing Buffy from her pin against the wall. It choked once and then fell to its cushioned knees and toppled over.
This time she didn't hesitate, unsure of whether the 'test' was over or not. She quickly ripped the bottom portion of her gown, leaving her thigh exposed, and wrapped the stiff fabric around her injured hand. Not wanting to cause more injuries than necessary, she used her now bandaged hand to pull the razor sharp skewer from the Bohg'dar demon's neck, hoping the fabric would offer a small bit of protection to her already gouged palm.
Just as she feared, the wall was opened again, another resident of the Hellmouth being pushed forward.
This one was easily recognized due to the fact that it looked human at first. Buffy wasn't sure whether to be relieved or worried that her next fight would be with a vampire. They were, after all, what she was used to. But with no wood around, killing it would be much more difficult.
"Sub-T 63115 hybrid-class, Vampire species." The vampire, who sickenly resembled Xander with his slightly broad shoulders and shaggy dark brown hair, snapped his eyes in the direction of Buffy before scanning the carnage around her. There were two demons already dead at her feet, her thin clothing was tattered down her side, hair was a disheveled mess, and she was bleeding.
"Slayer," he greeted her, knowing instinctively who the petit blonde was. He closed his eyes for a brief second, inhaling the air and taking in the sweet smell of her blood that penetrated through the musky odors of her previous kills.
She smiled despite herself, "It's nice to see at least someone knows who I am in this hell hole."
The vampire chuckled lowly and nodded as he spread his legs equal width to his shoulders, taking on a fighting stance. His face morphed, covering his brow in ridges, turning his eyes a golden color, and extending his teeth to a point. "To the death then?"
Nodding, Buffy matched his position, pulling her arms closer to her body and readying her only weapon. "Seems to be the story of my life." And with that, he lunged.
She grabbed the lapels of his jacket, wondering in the back of her mind why he was able to keep his clothes, and tossed him over her head. He went flying into the wall and landed with a sickening crunch on the floor.
She knew it wouldn't be enough to put him down and watched as he jumped up from his crumbled position, preparing for another attack. Not wanting to give him the chance, she turned the tables and began her torrent of fists and feet in his direction.
The fight continued back and forth and Buffy felt her body weakening. When was the last time she had anything to eat? Not being able to answer the question, she turned her fury of her captors onto her current opponent.
She keened him in the ribs and while he was doubled over, protecting the injured area, she punched him square in the nose. His head jerked back causing him to lose his balance and fall onto his back. The Polgara demon's unusual purple blood fanned out around him as she climbed up his form, wrapping his chest between her strong thighs.
The vampire, seeing his impending death, tried to free himself, but his arms were pinned to his sides by her bare legs. With no means of escape, he began to plead with her, having heard of her humanity and her willingness to help the weak.
"Listen, Slayer. We should be working together not against each other. It's the only way we'll get outta this place." His pleas seemed to fall on deaf ears as she brought her make-shift weapon to his throat. Her other hand grasped the end of the skewer and began to push the blade into his Adam's apple.
When his spine at the base of his skull made contact with the blade's edge her eyes flashed to his. What she saw there, true fear, startled her, but changed nothing. "Killed or be killed," she repeated. With a deep breath and a heavy thrust, the skewer pushed through bone and the body beneath her turned to dust.
Buffy sagged forward, knees covered in purple toned liquid and the previously dusted vampire's blood still coating her weapon and knuckles.
She began going over what had happened, thrilled she had survived, but sickened by herself and the means she had to use to do so. Her head snapped up to the offending door, waiting for another opponent to be pushed in and announced, but she was taken by surprise when the voice fell back through the intercom.
"Congratulations, Hostile 17." As Buffy was beginning to make a snide comment, vent like slits opened in the seamless ceiling and a thick green gas began to seep into the room.
Her initial reaction was to distance herself from it. She plastered her back against the opposite wall and threw her arm over her face, burrowing her nose in the crick of her elbow. "No!" she screamed into her arm as she turned around and began pounding against the wall with all her might.
Not a dent was made as she continued the beating, feeling more than seeing the toxic gas at her back. She felt her already bloody hand throb at the force, but refused to give in.
It was useless, of course. The gas swallowed her small form, filling all of her senses with its poisons before her entire world went dark again.
- • -
Buffy couldn't wake easily this time around. She felt the weight back in her chest and heard the clanging of metal tools hitting metal surfaces before she saw anything.
Recognizing the sterile smell of the room before she saw her surroundings, she was quickly thrown back into reality. So… not some horrific nightmare. Just another day in the life of Buffy.
Her snide thoughts rang even truer through her mind as she slowly opened her eyes. The room was recognizable. It seemed to be the same one she was in the first time, complete with stainless steel countertops, but something was different; more equipment.
Her gaze shot down her body, taking a mental count of all of her fingers and toes, noting that she was once again bare, the thin sheet back in place. She fell across a large machine that resembled a portable x-ray system, but slimmer, over her right hand and arm.
The injuries she sustained in her prior battles seemed to have been fairly healed over, leaving a puckering pink scar across her palm. That, alone, told her she had been unconscious for at least two days.
The sound that previously woke her, that of metal meeting metal, chimed again and her eyes darted to her right. There stood her mad scientist, scalpel in one hand, recorder in the other.
"Hostile 17 has exhibited remarkable healing abilities. Injuries sustained from conflict 52 hours prior have fully healed, a small scar the length of the wound the only notion of its existence. The injury in question, a large, quarter-inch deep slash across the subject's right palm would have taken an average human months to heal from."
Buffy closed her hand and opened her mouth, preparing to rip the scientist a new one with the list of insults she had running through her head, but was stopped short; a searing pain shot up her arm, making her tense her muscles and squeeze her fisted hand tighter.
She glanced down, seeing the scalpel pressed into the flesh of her forearm, a small line of dark red following behind it.
Not wanting to give her kidnappers any sense of sick satisfaction, she gritted her teeth, taking solace in the fact that the wound wasn't as deep as many injuries she had sustained before.
The scientist watched in glee as the skin on Hostile 17's arm began to knit itself together. Buffy noticed the delight in her eyes, assuming she had a smile to accompany the expression underneath the surgeon's mask, and it sickened her.
"You're sick, you know that? Sick and mad and demented!"
Her insults were thoroughly ignored as the experiment continued. More cuts were added to her forearm beside the first incision, each one growing deeper and more painful.
Buffy continued to grit her teeth, refusing, yet again, to show any reaction towards the pain.
The testing slowed as the scientist took notes on her healing, saddened by the fact that the deeper the wound, the longer the process took. In fact, two of the deepest incisions had yet to heal fully. She decided, for the benefit of her research, she would stitch them close to accelerate the process.
While using her wrist to push the fallen stray hairs out of her face, she turned slightly, retrieving a curved needle and thread from one of the stainless drawers.
Buffy watched as she placed them on a tray beside her gurney and lifted a syringed needle from the same area. Frightened about what happened the last time she welcomed the blackness, she began to struggle. Her exertion was fruitless, despite her Slayer strength, and the needle was plunged into the crook of her elbow yet again.
The familiar weight on her senses began to take hold as her torturer exchanged the syringe out for the needle and thread. She turned her body back towards Buffy's arm and lifted her mask over her head, allowing it to rest in her styled hair.
A small gasp left Buffy's chapped lips, taking in her captor's face. "Pr-Professor Walsh?" She could feel her tongue thickening and struggled to push the name out of her mouth.
The scientist, who now had a name to her face, locked eyes with her subject before quickly returning to her task at hand. Without any anesthesia, knowing the drugs would be kicking in shortly, she swung the curved needle through injured flesh, pulling the string through and closing the wound one stitch at a time.
Buffy grimaced at the feel, but noticed with worry that it was starting to subside. The faded sense of paint and film that began to overtake her vision meant that the drugs she was being poisoned with were starting to take hold.
She settled her now clouding vision onto the Professor's face and mumbled, "There's always one teacher who is of the bad," before yet again succumbing to the blackness that awaited her.
Author's Note:
So, we have the Scoobies worried to death about Buffy's disappearance, but still determined to find her. Meanwhile, Buffy is going through her own personal trials from hell, doing her best to survive and maintain who she is on the inside. But where's Spike? Leave a review and let me know what you think. As I've said before, suggestions and comments always welcomed. Don't be afraid about critique, either. All I ask is that the tone stays pleasant so I can learn from my mistakes.
