Chapter 2
'Like Unto The Gods'
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Madness comes, and madness goes
An insane place, with insane moves
Battles without, for battles within
Where evil lives and evil rules
Breaking them up, just breaking them in
Quickest way out, quickest relief wins
Never disclose, never betray
Cease to speak or cease to breathe
And when you kill a man, you're a murderer
Kill many, and you're a conqueror
Kill them all ... Ooh ... Oh you're a God!
Megadeth, Captive Honour
Lyrics and music by: Mustaine, Ellefson, Menza, Friedman
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AN: By contrast to the torturous labor that was chapter 1, this one wrote itself pretty quickly. If there's anything wrong with the street names that I've used, blame Google Maps, not poor me.
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A-Day minus 312
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You could say that Quentin Travers was a man on a mission.
Some would say very diplomatically that Travers was a man who would take the Council's business very personal.
Others would say that Travers was an asshole who turned his own business into that of the Council's.
Both sides agreed that whatever his business was, Quentin Travers was a man who would go to any length, make any sacrifice to make it happen. His admirers in the Council admired his will and determination in getting the job done, no matter the cost, no matter the sacrifice. His enemies in the Council loathed how the sacrifices he was willing to make always tended to be amongst their ranks. Both sides tended to agree though that it was the Slayers who bore the brunt of his determination and willingness to make sacrifices.
But that was how it had always been.
Historically Slayers had been both gifted and cursed by their gift of strength and ability. For it meant that no man could truly fight along their side. Which meant Slayers were in the end always alone. And all the Council could do was help them and point them in the right direction, to give their sacrifice meaning.
In a sense it was as hard on the Council as it was on the Slayers. It bore a stark resemblance to a story called Who walks away from Omelas. Omelas was a fictitious city where peace and prosperity were abundant and everybody could have as they desired with no consequences. But the price of that prosperity did not come cheap for it was fueled by dark magic. For in order for Omelas and its citizens to prosper someone had to suffer. And in this case a child.
In Omelas a child would be taken at random at age six and then incarcerated in a small room. He or she would have to live out its life living in its own excrements, with no companionship other then daily mistreatment by its jailors until the day it would die from malnourishment and neglect. Then a new child would be chosen.
The knowledge of this was not kept a secret. All citizens of Omelas knew this. They were shown the child when it was being fed or mistreated. Many would protest upon learning of this practice. But what could they do? Their society prospered and to free the child, which was by then usually beyond help, would mean the end of Omelas. In the end most came to accept this or chose to ignore it. Those that couldn't left the city and walked away. Never to be seen again.
The Council was like this. Sure, the lives of Slayers were short and brutal. And it wasn't fair. But what could they do? The system had worked for Millennia to keep humanity safe. If the price for the millions of lives saved was a small number of girls having to die, then maybe that was a sacrifice worth paying for the greater good. Some in the Council viewed the Slayers as nothing but mere tools. Lose one, another will always come. Others genuinely tried to help the Slayers as best as they could. And some left the Council altogether.
Quentin Travers believed in the Council. He believed in the system of Watchers and Slayers. Yes, it wasn't a fair system. But the world wasn't fair either. And if a vampire put his teeth into your neck you'd better hope that the Universe was fair enough to make sure a Slayer was patrolling nearby, otherwise fair, schmair. Despite its imperfections the system worked as the world was still turning and humanity still the planet's dominant species. And he wasn't going to risk anything endangering the system. Or anyone for that matter.
Which was what brought him here to this present place.
Quentin was sitting in a blinded SUV, one in a series of SUV's that drove across interstate 480, after having picked him up from Cleveland-Hopkins International Airport. Cleveland, with its own Hellmouth had a small Council presence to keep an eye on things. But things had been peaceful as far as Hellmouths go. The local demon population seemed more interested in keeping a low profile and making money then creating havoc. Which meant that as far as the Council was concerned they were more then happy to let sleeping dogs lie.
Which is also why as part of that strategy Quentin Travers had not informed the local Watcher of his visit. In fact few even in the Council knew that Travers was currently as they called it, Stateside. In fact he was even traveling alone without his Council bodyguard. A breach in Council protocol. But a necessary one.
Without anyone to speak too to ease the current monotonous journey Travers entertained himself by looking out of the window. While the fellow road users couldn't see who was inside his blackened SUV Quentin had the luxury of watching them. He had long given up on taking in the sights of a new city. After a while they all seemed the same. But he liked to entertain himself by watching his fellow road users. Imagine if their lives would one day be touched by the supernatural.
It was a childish game, but knowing that that woman driving in her cheap Honda, chattering obliviously on some cell phone, that she could do so because the Council had been on the ball for all those Millennia, that was something that truly inspired him. That that old grandmother holding up other drivers because she was old and cautious could only do so because a certain Slayer in 1975 staved off an apocalypse in the greater Cleveland area at the time.
Some people he could instantly see if they would be vampire bait. Just by looking at them you could see that they would give up the moment death personified knocked on their doors. While others, they looked like they would put up a fight. Vampires could also see that. Most preferred the submissive ones, for it allowed them to feed relatively unnoticed, as the feisty ones put up a struggle. And struggles tended to get noticed more often. Of course there were always a few vampires who preferred their prey to put up a fight. Luckily odds tended to favor the cautious ones as most of the brash ones got thinned out.
In no small thanks to the Slayers. God bless them. It came as a surprise to many considering his distant opinion on Slayers but Travers was one of the few in the Council who could name every Slayer of the last hundred years. They may be tools, but they were valuable tools. And even valuable tools are worthy of some remembrance.
As he entertained himself internally interstate 480 gave way to interstate 77 and the small convoy turned north. The two men up front hadn't said a word, except in their small radios as the other vehicles called in with updates and information. Other then that they completely ignored Quentin in the back. Which was to his liking anyway. After all, he wasn't here to deal with underlings.
Eventually the convoy turned right and drove northeast over interstate to Quentin's surprise the convoy turned west again towards the city center and entered the campus grounds of Cleveland State University. Driving almost the entire length of the campus grounds they entered a small road leading towards the edge of the campus grounds until they reached a small cluster of buildings that according to their signs were part of the University Maintenance department.
As they halted near one of the buildings two men came outside, dressed as maintenance workers. But maintenance workers didn't carry small concealed sub-machine guns. One of the men came towards the vehicle Travers was in and opened the door.
"If you please, sir," he said.
Quentin nodded and stepped out of the car. A chill November wind greeted him, blowing all the way from Canada from across Lake Erie, so he pulled his coat closed. As the man that had opened the car door closed it again the other one pointed towards the building they had come from.
"This way, sir?" the man said and Quentin nodded again. The guard walked beside him while the other one kept a keen eye around him. Behind them the small convoy drove off again the way it had come.
Stepping through the door that one of the guards opened for him Travers entered the building. It seemed like an average maintenance building, full of equipment needed to maintain the university campus grounds. To his left was a small kitchen which seemed to be used by the guards as a restroom. Nothing out of the ordinary. In fact one of the guards that had closed the door behind them even went back inside the kitchen.
"If you would, sir," the leading guard said pointing towards the small kitchen. Shrugging Travers heeded the guard's request and went inside and sat down on a chair by the only table. Meanwhile a radio was playing a popular tune, Quentin was unsure which, he had long given up on following popular music culture. Nor did he care.
"Coffee or tea, sir?" the other guard asked as he stood in front of a small hot drinks vending machine. Quentin was tempted to ask for tea but chose not to.
"Coffee would be okay," he said. The guard nodded and pressed for coffee. There was no way in hell any vending machine would do justice to a proper cup of tea so why even bother. A decision vindicated as soon as the guard put down a plastic cup in front of him. It didn't even do the name coffee justice.
"Here, sir," the guard said.
"Thanks," Quentin replied as he picked up the plastic cup, cautiously sniffed its content, then put it back, "so what now?"
"Now we wait," the other guard said as he put his sub-machine gun on the sink and went to the vending machine to get a hot drink himself, "someone will come for you, sir."
"Okay," Quentin sighed as he resigned himself to the wait. It would seem his new allies were no strangers to the waiting game either. He took a sip from the coffee and nearly pulled a grimace. The coffee tasted as foul as it looked! Not even the lowliest employee at the Council headquarters would have to endure such disgusting coffee back home. In a sense it was ironic since the Americans tended to pride themselves on taking care of their workers.
Once both guards gotten themselves some coffee they sat down on the table. Then one of them reached out towards the radio and changed the channel.
"… and now the true face of these so-called Democrats is revealed," a voice on the radio droned on, "for do these so-called Democrats respect the will of the people? No. They reach for their perennial allies, the fat cat lawyers, and bury the election process in lawsuits. But it doesn't matter, America, for the will of the people will be heard. Including the people of Florida. And…"
"Rush Limbaugh?" guard one said incredulously, "you listen to that fat idiot?"
"Hey, I happen to think he makes a lot of sense," guard two said sipping from his coffee, "I fail to see why Gore has to demand a recount."
"Oh, please," guard one snorted, "that election down there was clearly rigged. That's what you get if you put Bush's brother in charge of the…"
"Oh common," guard two protested, "that's just loser talk. Do you think high and mighty Al would have protested if Florida had gone his way? Its his own damn fault that he lost the election. Just take West-Virginia. Always staunchly democrat but not this time. If he had paid a little more attention to the small states instead of pouring everything in the big ones he could have easily afforded to lose Florida. He got what's coming to him."
The two guards kept bickering for a while, much to Travers' dismay. Typical lowlife behavior of the Colonies, he thought disapproving. Eventually the two guards were interrupted when somebody else entered the kitchen.
The newcomer was dressed in everyday civilian garb, but everything about him, from his stance to his short cropped hair shouted military.
"Sir Quentin Travers?" the newcomer asked formally. Travers didn't reply, he just rose.
"If you would come this way, sir," the newcomer said and pointed outside of the small kitchen. Travers said nothing to the two guards but instead left the kitchen and followed the newcomer as he walked towards the back of the storage room.
In the back, behind a large snow mobile he touched a part of the wall, after which a large doorway slid open.
"If you would, sir," the man said, gesturing towards the door opening.
Typically American, Travers thought as he stepped through into an elevator. Always resorting to complicated gaudy and flashy solutions straight from bad Hollywood movies. Which wasn't so strange if you considered that few of them read anything even remotely considered literature as a counterweight to all of those bad influences.
The man joined Travers in the elevator and the door closed behind them. The man leaned forward into a small mirror and a glowing green light scanned his face.
"There can be only one," the man said aloud.
"Initiative vocal code match complete," a computer voice said in response, "special agent, Jackson, Thomas. Identity number 64921"
No sooner had the computer voice spoken as the elevator began moving downwards. For quite some time. When it came to a sudden stop the doors went open and a long white corridor became visible. Inside the corridor a soldier in uniform was on guard and stood to attention.
Travers and Jackson left the elevator and passed the soldier, who seemed to be guarding a small guardroom where another soldier sat watching rows upon rows of screens. On one screen Travers could see the two guards from above still in heated argument.
Jackson led Travers through the seemingly endless corridor until they reached the end of it. Then he halted and opened a door for Quentin.
"If you'd please, sir," he said firmly and Travers stepped inside. He entered what seemed like a conference room, with a large u shaped table with built in viewing screens at separate intervals.
"If you would please sit down, sir, somebody will come for you shortly," Jackson said, "can I get you anything, sir? Coffee, tea?"
Remembering the atrocious coffee from upstairs Travers declined.
"No thanks," he said. Jackson nodded, then he closed the door behind him and left. Being intimately familiar with the waiting game Travers then decided to spend the time productively by picking a seat that would give him the most commanding position for the meeting that was about to happen. At least the Americans got this part right as he approvingly noticed that all the chairs at the table were slightly uncomfortable, forcing the seated to sit in an uncomfortable upright position.
So he made himself comfortable in the only comfortable chair that there was, the one at the head of the table. If they wanted to play games with him, well, he wrote the book on them.
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After having made their guest wait for fifteen minutes director Maggie Walsh decided she had made Quentin Travers wait long enough. With Lieutenant Jackson in tow she made her way to the conference room. Only to find their guest sitting comfortably in her own chair.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Travers," she said to her guest who made no signs of getting up from her chair.
"Likewise, Ms. Walsh," Travers replied amiably, "I trust everything is well now?"
"As well as can be expected," she replied back. He wants to be play the diplomat, well so can I, she'd thought. Travers nodded politely in response.
"I am glad to hear it," he said, then he waved around him, "this is quite a setup you have here. It's quite….., dramatic?"
Dramatic my ass, you pompous British ass!
"The Initiative is housed in a former Cold War installation," Lieutenant Jackson said in a tone of voice like he was playing tour guide, "It was build in the late 1950's by the US government to house in case of a nuclear attack the Eastern Great Lakes recovery administration and the headquarters of 5th Army. The facilities were completed in 1961 and briefly used during the Cuban missile crisis. After that it was deemed that command and control centers in major cities proved too much of a risk in case of all out thermo nuclear war and the facility was abandoned. As of 1964 the facility was turned over to the National Security Council but never used until the NID acquired ownership once we learned it was situated near a Hellmouth."
"Fascinating," Travers said in a tone that suggested anything but that. Again Maggie Walsh cursed that she was forced to work with this cretin. That Senator Kinsey had ordered her to work with this man. She still thought that if given enough time they would succeed.
Unfortunately time was not their friend.
It never was.
"So how was your flight, Mr. Travers," she asked him, "or can I say Quentin?"
"Sir Quentin Travers," the cretin replied smiling a wry smile, "But you may call me Travers. And in answer to your question, yes, I had a good flight."
Asshole!
"Fine, Mr. Travers," she said blandly, "would you like a tour of the facility?"
"I'd like that," the cretin replied. So they left the conferencing room and moved into the Initiative proper.
"The base is divided in two parts," she said as she and Lieutenant Jackson led Travers through the base. The old civilian administration part now houses our logistical and research facilities. Like these."
They entered a large room where several scientists were working behind rows and rows of computers.
"As luck would have it the university uses part of the old communications network to install their own glass fiber network," Walsh continued as she pointed to a computer, "Our engineers were thus able to hook up our network right up to that of the university's. That way our data connections will be masked by that of the university, which as I'm told has a significant file sharing and illegal software community active on its servers."
"Hiding behind the chatter of the university, quite clever," Travers conceded, "But what if one of those internet savvy people tries to hack into your systems?"
Walsh suppressed a snort. Stupid technophobic Council, they probably just used the nearest internet café rather then let this new thing called computers into their sacrosanct and undoubtedly stuffy headquarters.
"In order to hack into our servers they would first still need to know we exist," Walsh said confidently, "trust me, our existence is secure."
"I'm sure they said similar things when the Titanic first sailed," Travers replied, causing Walsh to repress a mighty urge to strangle the bastard.
"We are also well protected by the latest in passive and active firewalls and guardians," she said, which didn't impress sir Cretin much. Probably because he didn't have a clue as to what it meant, the medieval dimwit!
Moving on they passed through the base canteen. Where Travers again made some disparaging remarks. Which were hilarious in hindsight considering the low international reputation of British cuisine. But most likely, nothing but the finest French and Italian cuisine would do for the fine gents of the Council.
Beyond the canteen were the military facilities, where people like Lieutenant Jackson honed their skills. Sir Quentin Travers was mightily surprised to learn that most of his men weren't even based in the base but instead were quartered in the dorms of the university above.
"That makes no sense," Travers remarked, "What could the possible benefits be?"
"We think it does," Maggie Walsh smiled, "not only do we base our men amongst the student population of both universities, I myself teach there daily as a professor at the university."
"Doesn't that increase the risk of possible exposure?" sir cretin asked.
"HST's like to prey upon students in particular," Lieutenant Jackson interjected, "many of them are away from home and feel lost and lonely, making for excellent prey. Also many students tend to drop out during the first year so a missing student tends to go unnoticed for a long while. And some HST's are just drawn to so many young people in the prime of their life. By mingling with the student population and going to their clubs and social activities we were alerted to and managed to bag ourselves quite the number of local HST's."
"In my case I deemed it necessary not to drop out of public life altogether," Walsh said, "as I was quite known in the academic circuit. Teaching in the university allows me to keep up my public cover. Plus it allows me to keep in touch with the men, like Lieutenant Jackson while they are under cover above."
"I see," Sir Cretin said, but from his body language she could see that the very idea abhorred him. Not that surprising though. From what she had been briefed about the Council it preferred to keep a hidden profile above all else.
"There is another benefit to housing most of the staff off base," Walsh continued as they entered another corridor. At the end of which were two soldiers armed with assault machine guns. Walsh pulled out her ID card and put it into a card reader, then she punched in her code. As the doors opened the soldiers kept a weary eye on the entire procedure.
"By housing most staff off base we can utilize more of the base for other purposes," Walsh said as they entered the high security zone. As if in answer a side door opened and two soldiers emerged pulling a trolley along. On the trolley were the remains of a cut open and gutted demon.
Frowning disapproving Travers followed the gurney of death as it passed them.
"I think I just saw breaches of at least half a dozen international agreements," he said disapprovingly.
"Well, the times they are changing," Walsh shrugged casually, "we don't live in the middle ages any more and as far as I know the United States never was a signatory to the Saint-Marc convent, nor the charter of Mieux or the treaties of Constantine."
"Only because it didn't exist in those days," Travers countered, "but the Hague covenant of the Munster peace treaty of 1648 clearly stipulates that any new state shall only receive international recognition unless it agrees to adhere to any past treaties between states and the Watchers Council."
"Whatever," Walsh shrugged, the pompous ass really getting on her nerves by now, "look I'm pretty sure you didn't come here to preach us on breaches of international protocol. You got people for that, we got people for that."
"You're quite right, Ms. Walsh," Sir Cretin replied as they went through another door, "Oh my, that is quite the selection you got here."
He was talking about the large numbers of cages that could be seen in this corridor. Inside each cage a vampire or demon could be seen. Imprisoned behind a massive glass wall. Somewhat nervously Travers reached out towards a cage and almost expected the demon inside to throw himself against the glass. It was what they did in the cages underneath the Watchers Council headquarters. Only here the demon just watched him in complete apathy.
"The glass is a new carbon composite that we are currently marketing," Walsh said proudly, "although the one we use here is more advanced. If a demon or vampire were to touch it for instance they would receive quite a nasty electric shock."
Travers withdrew his hand from the glass like it was infected with the plague.
"Don't worry," Walsh chortled, "only those on the inside will get the nasty shock."
"I see," Travers said somewhat impressed, "I must say the Council might be interested in placing an order for this technology ourselves."
"Good ole fashioned American ingenuity," Walsh grinned. They moved on past cage after cage. Some of the caged demons and vampires still had some spirit left in them and shouted insults as they passed, but most kept quiet.
Next they went to some of the laboratories that were inside the high security area. Where they came upon a team of scientists in surgical clothes that were busy performing an autopsy on a demon. After that they returned to the conference room where Maggie made sure that this time she would be seated at the head of the table.
"This is quit an impressive operation you have here, Ms. Walsh," Travers said as he seated himself as far away as was possible from the Initiative leader, "I'm not quite sure what you need our expertise for."
Walsh pulled out a file map and slid it across the table. The map contained a series of files all marked top secret. He had to reach out for the file but Travers pulled it towards him, then he opened it and read its content.
"I am not familiar with this prophecy," he said after having read the file, "in fact none of our prophecies ever mention something about an apocalypse caused by a pair of robots."
"Well, I think they had other things on their mind in the dark ages," Walsh said derisively, "Although I hear there's a Japanese prophecy that mentions something called Jinzouningen, or artificial people."
"Our prophecies do tend to be quite thorough though," Travers countered, "do not underestimate the powers of the ancient visionaries to foretell the future. You would be interested to learn what modern advances they did foretell. For instance the rise of the internet was foretold already by an ancient Sumerian oracle living in the third millennium BC."
"Prophecies can be twisted to explain whatever you want to them to," Walsh said unimpressed, "Especially after the fact. We on the other hand have supporting evidence regarding the coming of these androids."
She activated her screen and that in front of Travers. On it the body could be seen of a small man of black origin.
"About a year ago three androids appeared looking for information. This one was captured in Sunnydale California. He was damaged beyond repair but once you stripped away the outer layer of flesh he there was a lot of robot inside."
Travers looked up from the screen and looked at Walsh.
"Did you just say Sunnydale California?" he asked, his arrogance gone like he had just seen a ghost.
"I did," Walsh said, then she grinned, "In fact, records have it that you were in that same town not that long before. Coincidence?"
Whatever seemed to have shaken Sir Cretin shook him no more as he quickly composed himself.
"A mere unfortunate set of coincidences," he said, "after all, as you probably know, the town has been build upon an Hellmouth."
"Oh, I know," Walsh echoed, then she touched her screen again and another body became visible. This time that of a large brutish body builder.
"This android was recovered in San Francisco. Silicone Valley to be precise. Capsule Corp. corporation to be even more precise. Where it tried to attack the daughter of the owner of said company. This happened early this year. Despite a massive search by both the FBI and the US armed forces for this android."
Then the picture changed to that of a severely mauled human body, barely recognizable. The body lay on a surgical table similar to the ones in the Initiative.
"This one was recovered about half a year ago. Again in Sunnydale California. Around the time of the chemical explosion that leveled the town's high school and surrounding area. Like the other two androids this one was human with extensive robotic implants underneath."
"I see," Travers nodded, "that does point to some credence to this prophecy of impending doom by robotic hands. Although to be technical the evidence seems to point more to cyborgs then robots. It still doesn't explain why none of our prophecies make any mention of it."
"Blind chance?" Walsh shrugged, "Wasn't US history irrevocably changed when one man fired three bullets at a moving car in Dallas in 1964?"
"Our prophecies foretold even of that event," Travers said, causing Walsh to snort.
"Oh, really? It never occurred you guys to give us a heads up? Or was it just something you guys 'learned' after the fact?"
Travers didn't respond.
Maggie Walsh sat up straight in her chair and put her hands together in front of her.
"From what I can gather your organization is engaged in a cosmic struggle between good and evil. A delicate balance that has to be maintained for order to exist. Sometimes the good guys win, sometimes the bad guys. The end result is always the same. So you get your prophecies from the good guys. Or at least I hope they are the good guys. I take some of the bad guys get their own clues. But even in the best of all regulated systems there is still a measure of chaos. Something that is not planned, something that could go wrong that suddenly does go wrong."
"We think that this professor Gero is that chaotic element. Did you know I met him once when I was a freshman student? He gave a guest lecture back then and I think most of what he was saying about robotics was so advanced I forgot most of it. I'm pretty sure that if it had been taped back then it would still be cutting edge today. Based upon the androids we so far encountered I totally believe that in less then a year we will be royally screwed. And if none of the your precious assorted ravings of madmen and lunatics mention Gero it's because he is that random chaotic element that crops up from time to time."
"So what do you want from us?" Travers asked. In response Walsh brought up schematics. Schematics that had Travers gasp for air.
"You must be joking," he said aghast.
"Do I look like a joker?" she said dead serious, "The Initiative was founded to come up with ways to enhance our soldiers in a galactic war that is even now being waged. I'm sure even the mighty Watchers Council has learned of the existence of the SGC and the Goa'uld. We are fighting as much a battle to stave of annihilation of mankind as the Council is. Only our adversaries use cutting edge technology instead of magic."
"We tried coming with cybernetic implants to enhance our soldiers. And some of them work. Lieutenant Jackson is a prime example of that work."
"But we need more to stop the Goa'uld. And we need even more to stop these androids. We tried installing better, stronger implants. Unfortunately after a certain level they kept on killing our volunteers. Then we hit upon the idea of using demons. Demons are stronger, they can take on the more powerful implants humans can't. We want to build an army of enhanced demons so we can not only take the fight to the Goa'uld and win, but also defeat those androids."
"But for that we need the Council's aid. We need time to study demons. Better understand their physiology. In a perfect world there would be plenty of time. Unfortunately we don't have that time. And that is where the Council comes in. We don't have the time to study demons. But you have the information we need already. If you could release that information to us it would allow us to field that demon army in less then a year, instead of years."
Quentin Travers had been listening to the woman's lecture. He knew she disliked him. That was okay. Plenty of people disliked him. In fact it was part of his outward persona that he carefully cultivated. It put people on the wrong foot and he found that it made people constantly underestimate him.
Even now he could see in the good professor's eyes that she feared that he might block the transfer of knowledge based on some old Council distrust of governments and their experiments on demons. Truth be told he couldn't care less. Governments had been caught dabbling in demon hunting since the rise of the first states in places like Egypt, Sumeria and the Indus valley. Hell, more often then not they had even been caught dabbling in the black arts or employment of demons.
While official Council policy was to forbid government interference in the supernatural, this had not always been the case. Sometimes governments and the Watcher's Council had worked together closely. In medieval times many a Watcher occupied important government positions that would allow them to deal with the supernatural. Of course in medieval times governments had been relatively weak and very much dependent on the few people that were literate in a time when most people couldn't read. So the arrangement was to everyone's satisfaction.
That had changed with the Renaissance and the rise of Reason. As more people abandoned blind faith and superstition, governments seemed less inclined to be associated with the Council. And as governments grew ever more powerful the Council thought it more and more prudent to make sure that the less they were involved with the supernatural, the better. Up to the point that there had been some in the Council in the 1930's who encouraged a certain Adolf Hitler to act against the Soviet-Union, as they feared Stalin's grasp on all things supernatural inside the Soviet-Union as a terrible danger in itself.
Of course Stalin found out. He always did. As a result of that the Council found it extremely hard to operate at all in the Eastern Block until the fall of Communism. And even that was only possible by giving Stalin the heads of those who had encouraged Hitler on a silver platter.
Literally!
As a result the Council nowadays was extremely skittish regarding any government involvement in anything supernatural and guarded its prerogative with extreme prejudice.
But Quentin Travers had other priorities in mind. Gradually, over time, he had come to learn certain truths. Truths that had shocked him to such a degree that when US Senator Kinsey had approached him on a matter of common interest in certain areas, instead of treating the message like the proverbial plague he saw an opportunity. And now that he had seen firsthand to what a degree Kinsey's Initiative was willing to do he saw even greater opportunity.
Yes. He would have to thread carefully. If his enemies in the Council were to learn of this it would be his downfall. His death even. But the gains…. And in the end things could be in the Council's favor even in the long term. The Council had learned of the US governments war with the Goa'uld and the chance of impending planetary destruction. If by agreement these cyborg demons would only be used off planet it would mean harnessing mankind's eternal enemy against its newest enemy. Whilst restoring also that which should be rightfully the Council's. But he had to thread carefully. So careful.
"I have to say I am very much displeased," Travers said with mock indignation, "Not since the days of the Roman XXXIII legion, the black legion, have I seen so much blatant government meddling in affairs that do not concern it. If other nations were to learn of this the implications could be most dire."
It wasn't a complete lie. If other countries were to learn of these experiments there would be repercussions. But at the same time Travers was realist enough to know that the United States was the world's sole superpower and too many other countries were dependent on it for them to act against it. In that sense the Council thought it prudent to remind countries that it had power of its own, but never give them cause to actually be forced to use it.
So he put up a struggle. Let her talk some more to convince them, play hard to get.
Only she didn't play that game.
Walsh stood up and leaned on the table.
"Let's cut the bullshit," she said coldly, "Let's not pretend that you're going to play hard to get, and I'm not going to pretend that there is imminent danger. Truth be told, I'm not sure Gero is crazy enough to destroy the world to get revenge. Crazed scientist trying to destroy the world is after all such a cliché and the guy seemed pretty sane when I met him."
"But you and I know perfectly well that there is something wrong with that place in California. I saw you stiffen up when I mentioned the place. It's no accident that two of those three androids were destroyed there. There is an alien presence there. You know it, I know it. Senator Kinsey knows it. In fact he knows even more then me. Whatever it is, it's interfering with your Council business and the Initiative was founded to help fight alien dangers."
"So let's not beat around here, shall we? What does it take? What is your price?"
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"He wants us to do what?"
Senator Kinsey looked incredulously at the small hologram of Initiative Commander Walsh.
"He wants us to either assassinate or use the new demon warriors to kill three people," holographic Walsh said without blinking an eye. Of course she had been privy to that information a little earlier.
"Then why doesn't he do so himself?" Senator Kinsey said into the small holographic projector on top of his desk in his office, "He's the head of the friggin' Watcher's Council. He could order the assassination of the new president elect if he wanted to and get away with it."
"Oh, has it been settled then?" Walsh replied offhand. The woman had a very annoying quirky side, Kinsey thought.
"I wish," Kinsey snorted derisively, "Al Gore is as stubborn as he's mind numbingly dull. Back to the point. Who does he want to get killed?"
Walsh let out a chortle.
"You'll get a real kick out of this one," she said, "apparently he wants us to kill two girls and one guy in Sunnydale."
Kinsey's face turned slightly pale.
"Not HIM?" he said aghast.
"Told you you'd get a real kick out of it," Holo-Walsh smirked. Kinsey leaned back in his seat for a moment and mulled things over.
"I can see why he wants HIM dead," he finally said, "he's on our list as well. But we are not yet ready to move on him. What about the girls?"
In response Kinsey's personal fax machine, the one only few people had the number to, came to life. Kinsey reached for the fax print outs and read them.
"She's his daughter?" he said surprised, "I thought he had only two infants."
"Step-daughter," Holo-Walsh corrected him, "To be. From what Jackson could gather he's engaged to his mother."
"There's little to no information about the other one," Kinsey said as he flicked through the papers, "just some juvenile records from Boston and…, Sunnydale again?"
"Nothing recent though" Holo-Walsh shrugged, "Jackson tried all that he could but he couldn't find anything recent. It's like she disappeared off the face of the Earth."
"I see," Kinsey said as he put the papers down, "You know, Director Walsh, these are some pretty stiff demands. Try as we might we aren't ready yet to move against HIM."
"I think Sir Cretin knows this," Holo-Walsh said, "he's not expecting payment up front. He expects payment on delivery. Once we get what we want he gets what he wants. And as it so happens at least one of his targets happens to be ours. Does it not, senator?"
"We should never have made a deal with this 'alien'," Kinsey said as he felt his anger rise again, putting extra vitriol on the word alien, "It's bad enough that we have Hammond's bunch kowtowing to various alien governments, now he made a Faustian deal with this 'alien' as well. We will not stand for this, I tell you."
Holo-Walsh said nothing ,just giving Kinsey an amiable smile as he finished his rant.
"Does this mean I should tell Sir Cretin he has a deal?" she said.
"He has a deal alright," Kinsey snorted, "if he gives us what we need to achieve Project 314 we will take care of his little problem."
"I'm sure he will be pleased to hear so," Holo-Walsh said. Then she cut off the connection and the hologram disappeared, leaving Senator Kinsey to contemplate the deal he just gave his okay to. Then he picked up the fax print of HIM and looked at the picture.
"We're going to kill you and your kind, mister," he said coldly, "and you know what, this time Jack's not even going to stop me. He'll be cheering me on."
x
x
As Walsh re-entered the conference room she found Travers once again sitting in her chair, like he owned the place. Sir Cretin was now really beginning to piss her off. If only they weren't so strapped for time….
"So what did our mutual associate have to say," Travers smiled amiably at her, "I take it he wasn't averse to our terms?"
Oh how she wanted to order Jackson to beat that smirk of his face.
Instead she put on her business face.
"Kinsey agreed to your terms," she said and walked up to Sir Cretin, "He can understand why you want to take him out, but like me he expresses puzzlement as to why you want the two girls to die. And FYI, that is my chair."
"Force of habit," Travers smiled condescendingly as he stood up, "as for the girls, you do not need to concern yourself as to the why. All you need to know is that it is the will of the Council. The how is all you need to worry about."
"You do realize that if it were known that we were to conspire with a foreign agency to kill American citizens there would be a public outcry?" Walsh scoffed as Travers passed her.
"Think of it like this," Travers replied, "there would be a public outcry regardless if it were known that the US government experimented on people. At least this way public anger will be directed at the both of us. Now we both have an incentive to succeed lest we both hang."
"Somehow I don't feel much reassured," Walsh snorted as she looked at Lieutenant Jackson, who just stood there implacably at attention, like the whole proceeding was the most common thing in the world. Or like he just had his hearing switched off.
"The world is as it is," Travers shrugged, "Now, before I go I would like to see your current project."
"What do you mean?" Walsh asked innocuously.
"Come on," Travers said like he had caught a small child in the act, "You tell me you're experimenting on people and demons and all I get to see are corpses? Where's the big project? The current demon you're working on? I can't help you people if you don't show how far you are."
Giving one more look at the implacable Lieutenant Jackson Walsh sighed.
"Come," she said and led Travers back into the maze that was the Initiative, with the lieutenant in their wake of course. Into the secure zone all the way towards the back, where another pair of soldiers armed with assault machine guns stood guard.
"We used this specimen for various reasons," she said as she punched in her code to open the door, "but most of all because he showed exceptional promise and aptitude for what was required."
The doors swung open and another laboratory was revealed.
"It took four full teams to capture this HST," she continued, "a record that stands unrivaled until today. Four men were killed trying to capture him and even more were wounded. And even although we probably reached the end as far we could take with his designs, they are the furthest we've gotten so far."
As Travers followed Walsh he saw that while at the right end of the laboratory Initiative scientists were working on their workstations, the left side was used exclusively for a large test bed.
"Good God!" Travers exclaimed as he recognized who was on that test bed.
It was the vampire Spike.
x
x
A-Day minus 346
x
The brute was strong.
He had to give him that.
Strong enough to give him a strong licking.
They must have dug deep to find this demon. Deep in some faraway shithole Crappistan or hell dimension to come up with this particular beast that proved itself strong enough to stand up to him.
He had to bring out all the stops except for the energy attacks to keep this demon from trouncing all over him. And Spike was loving it!
When he had fled from that accursed town in California he swore never to return to that place. At first he had gone South to see Drusilla again. But halfway down Mexico it occurred to him that there was no point to going back to Dru like some lovesick puppy. So he had shaken his funk off of him. Big deal. It still didn't mean Dru would take him back. Besides, if he went back to her that would give her the advantage. Better that she'd come to him. Let her come to her senses and stop screwing every disgusting demon she came across to punish him once she learned he no longer cared. Then she'd return to him.
Meanwhile he would be best served if he became his own man again. So he went to Mexico City in search for a place to rule.
Mexico City was unruly, ungodly, the deathrate was insane with human life meaning nothing there. And that was almost all the work of humans themselves.
Even when he was still Angelus that tosser Angel already had his bouts of the broody. It was in one of his broody moments that Angelus had said that the biggest demon preying upon humanity was humanity itself and that by comparison he was just an amateur. In Mexico City Spike again learned how right brood boy had been. He killed five people on arriving that night and within a week had created his own private band of followers again. And nobody seemed to take notice, just some more statistics.
But even in Mexico City vampires and demons didn't own the night. By the next week his private band had been all but destroyed by what he would later learn was a private army of demon hunters, armed and trained by the Mexican Catholic Church called La Inquisition. Apparently it was alright for drug lords and corrupt politicians to kill people by the dozens, but an honest master vampire, no he'd get the cross and holy water treatment in no time.
Such was the way of the world though and complaining got you nowhere. He was about to leave Mexico City again when Spike learned of the Circuit.
The Circuit was a network of underground no rules to the death fighting. Mostly between demons, but sometimes between demons and humans. And best of all, what happened in the ring, stayed in the ring.
Not long after he had been turned Angelus once mentioned that there were demons and vampires who made a living in underground fights. It piqued the brawler interest inside Spike, but Angelus had made it damn certain that such thing were beneath them. After that Spike had found other diversions, but now that he learned of the Circuit his interest was again piqued.
He attended a match as a visitor and found this was where he belonged. There were no complications, there was no ideology, just an honest to God fight. It may be beneath that Nancy Boy Angel, but it was at the right gutter level as far as Spike was concerned. No sooner had he witnessed the fight as he challenged the winner to a duel.
At first he noticed that vampires were frowned upon. Maybe it was for certain racist reasons because of their human origins. Or because as he later learned that some vampires had tried to masquerade themselves as human fighters. In the end it didn't matter. As long as he provided a good honest entertaining fight he found that people began to cheer for him.
And he did try to give them a good honest entertaining fight. Thanks to Sunnydale he was at least ten times stronger as any other vampire and stronger then most demons. This meant that he could finish off almost any opponent before he even had to break a sweat. But what would be the point in that? Or the fun both for himself and the audience? So Spike made it almost a point of religion to lower himself to the point of his adversary and defeat him purely on skill and determination alone if possible. And as he progressed he also became very adapt at playing the crowds, which meant he also became a crowd favorite.
El Gringo Blanqueada
As the Circuit and La Inquisition had an agreement with each other that whatever happened in the ring, stayed in the ring, Spike finally had what he wanted. He was his own man again. He got to fight to his hearts desire and got paid handsomely for it. The only downside was that the Circuit frowned on its fighters being 'active' outside of the ring or the gym.
Still, he had all the blood he could ever wanted donated by loving fans. Mexicans were a strange lot in that respect as the only thing they loved more then a real game of football was to see a good fight. It was almost like he was living the life of a rock star. And he loved it.
Eventually though the life in Mexico grew repetitive and stale. While Spike had always loved to overindulge himself from time to time, constant open debauchery grew boring even for him, so Spike decided that maybe the time had come to become a real professional and travel the Circuit worldwide. The Circuit in Western-Europe was only a short tour as West Europeans weren't so much into blood sports as they used to be. Eastern-Europe however, and Russia in particular, proved more fertile. But before he knew it he fell back into the same pattern as in Mexico.
So he moved to New York instead. Just the right kind of money and interest to make it worthwhile but nothing like the abject hero worship that grew boring after a while.
It was in New York that he awaited the World's best to come to him. And for Dru to make his way back to him. It was in New York that he awaited the arrival of a mysterious young man who was beginning to make a name for himself and who had even defeated the famed demon/fighter Drum from Cleveland. But he never came.
Nature abhorred a vacuum in the illegal underground demon fight circuit as much as it did elsewhere though, so a next hottest fighter always took the place of the last promise. A fine specimen that Spike was even now fighting. A young demon of an unpronounceable species, champion to a demon clan with an even more unpronounceable name.
From what his manager had told him the clan had fallen on hard times and was now desperate for money, putting up their best and finest for the Circuit. He (at least he looked like a he) had cut a sway through various fights in the Far East before coming to the US via Los Angeles, making his way towards New York. Apparently his clan now believed he was ready to take on El Gringo Blanqueada
And truth be told the kid was magnificent. If he hadn't received Angelus chi training Spike was certain that the brute would have finished him off long ago. Combining above vampire levels of strength with superb oriental martial arts. It almost made Spike wish Angelus had received the full Saiyan curriculum from the Big Scary. All the flashy moves instead of just the basics.
But Spike also had the heart of a street brawler and he knew that most fights weren't decided by flashy finishing moves. 95% of all fights were decided by simple basic moves. Simple punches, kicks and blocks served you well until your opponent finally made a mistake. And while the kid was good and strong, probably even had some training in less advanced martial arts involving chi, he still liked to flaunt his strength by making flashy moves. And there were probably at least half a dozen moments when Spike could have finished the fight with a simple basic attack.
That off course would be depriving the audience of a great fight. And Spike had seen enough martial arts movies to know that any good fight involved letting yourself get beaten up for a while before turning the tide. Audiences love a come back from behind. The key was in making sure you made no mistakes while getting beaten up. It was different from the go straight to the jugular tactics that he had used in the past, but then again, back then he wasn't into providing entertainment either.
So now the question became, how to take him down without becoming accused of toying with the brute? The sudden just increase your strength and knock him down approach would probably cause some heads being turned. It had to look both pretty and believable.
In the end the answer was as simple as it was a classic. Basic attrition.
While the kid was well trained, any fighter still suffered fatigue as a fight dragged on. And the fight had been dragging on for quite some while now. The kid had been keeping up a steady attack since the beginning. Occasionally Spike had taken the initiative himself, after all, he had to show he wasn't the champion for no reason.
Eventually though his challenger showed more and more signs of wearing out more then Spike was. Maybe it was because the kid had fought too many battles in too short a time. Maybe it was because Spike had been living a way healthier lifestyle then he used too (living off the finest human blood from blood banks, regular exercise). Or maybe because if he really wanted to he could still draw on infinitely larger reserves.
Probably it was the latter. As there was not enough money in the world that could persuade Spike to give up smoking. Or the occasional greasy fried up foods.
Sensing that his opponent was wearing out Spike began to take the initiative and upped up his attacks, causing even more wear and tear on his opponent. The crowds roared as they sensed that the tide of battle had changed. Those with money running on Spike roared their approval, those who had betted on the newcomer didn't. Shouting ever more desperate encouragements to the new kid instead.
It wasn't lost on the demon either. He looked like he was starting to realize that he might actually lose the fight. He tried to compensate, throw in his last reserves. At Spike's current level it should be enough to sway the tide against him again. But the vampire had enough of this fight and raised his power to compensate accordingly. Concern on the demon's face now gave way to fear as he realized that there was no more way for him to win, other then maybe a mistake by Spike.
But Spike wasn't going to give him a mistake. Sticking to purely basic attacks he hammered the demon.
"Who's your daddy now, huh?" he yelled as he rained down blow upon blow on the luckless demon. The demon didn't reply. Instead he resorted to every trick in his extensive arsenal to keep the vampire at bay. Which was what Spike had been after all along. For desperation plus too much techniques plus exhaustion equaled a recipe for disaster.
Which ultimately came to fruition as a defensive move meant to ward off an attack backfired and created an opening that Spike immediately exploited with a massive blow to the head. The impact of which sent the demon to the floor. He wasn't out yet, but Spike ruthlessly exploited that his opponent had lost his mobility lying on the floor with a series of vicious kicks and blows to finish him off for good
The crowds now really sensing that blood and death were imminent howled for the slaughter to commence. After he pummeled the luckless demon for two minutes straight a bloodied Spike, glistening in sweat turned his back to the demon for the first time in the match and looked towards the crowd.
"SPIKE! SPIKE!" the chanting went and Spike raised his arms in the air to acknowledge their bloodlust.
"Is this what you want?" he yelled. The crowd roared in response.
"IS THIS WHAT YOU WANT?" he yelled again as he kicked the demon's head without looking for good measure. Again the crowds roared.
"FINISH HIM, SPIKE!"
"RIP HIS HEAD OFF!"
Grinning wickedly Spike turned towards the demon.
"As you wish," he grinned as he knelt beside the demon and took its head in a choke hold. Then he vamped out and sank his teeth into its throat.
"SPIKE! SPIKE!" the crowds roared as he ripped the demon's throat out. He even drank from its blood. Normally demon blood was a poor substitute for human blood. But drinking his enemy's blood had also become sort of his finishing trade mark move. He also greatly enjoyed the massive amounts of adrenalin that had been pumping inside his victims blood. Now adrenalin wasn't something rare in a vampire's victim's blood. The body seemed to be making a lot of when under attack. But it released massive amounts of it in a fighter's blood.
"Yeah!" some of the people yelled approvingly as he drank deeply. While normally a demon's blood taste ranged from atrocious to bearable, this one had a surprising sweet aftertaste. And while adrenalin served to make it even more sweet this demon had to be pretty drinkable to begin with. Causing Spike to drink much longer then he normally did.
Eventually though he let go of the now limp body and stood up, hands in the air.
"Who's still the man now, you prancing fairy?" he yelled as an official from the Circuit came by and knelt beside the demon's body, checking to see if Spike's opponent was really dead. After checking he looked aside and shook his head, all while Spike was making his victory lap around the underground arena, high fiving some of the front row spectators. .
"Who's the fuckin' man," Spike yelled, "certainly not that tosser."
As Spike made his victory round a man in a tuxedo joined the Circuit official with a microphone.
"And the winner, through certain death, is still New York's reigning champion, SPIKE!" the newcomer said.
"SPIKE! SPIKE! SPIKE! SPIKE!"
It was good to be alive!
In a sort of way.
What exactly happened next went in a sort of daze for Spike, with the post-battle rush still high on his brain. Circuit officials guided him towards what passed for a dressing room. He plopped onto a chair next to a table. On the table stood a large glass with a warm pint of blood. Human blood. He never asked where it came from. Probably from a human blood bank, although you never really knew with these guys. It was always at body temperature even though there wasn't a microwave in sight.
Drinking deeply from the blood Spike ignored the Circuit official who congratulated him on yet another victory. The money, like always was on the table in an attaché briefcase. After he had finished drinking the blood he put the glass down and reached for his leather overcoat, taking from a pocket a packet of cigarettes. Pulling out a cigarette he put in his mouth, then lit it.
It tasted glorious.
After the Circuit official had left two girls entered the dressing room. They were the epitome of sluts in their skimpy outfits and high heels. And they just wanted to please him. Vampire groupies. Just two. After all, any more would be decadence.
And to think that wanker of an Angelus had actually wanted to end this glorious world.
x
x
Spike's limousine drove over the streets of Brooklyn. The limo and driver were courtesy of the Circuit, for their star performer. The two girls giving him a sponge bath with their tongues, well, you could say the Circuit was partly responsible. God bless the groupies! And their tongues of course.
Okay, it might be a little self-indulgent. It still was peanuts compared to Mexico. Mexicans were crazy as fuck.
Besides the driver and the girls there was also a minder sitting up front. The minder's job was not so much to look after Spike but to keep an eye on him. The girls came from a Circuit venue and if he killed them that would look unfavorably on the organization. Not that he was necessary though, for the girls knew tricks with their tongues that made them far more worthwhile to Spike alive then dead. Talent should never be punished.
"Yeah, baby, that's the stuff," Spike moaned as he threw his head backwards in the comfortable chair. Life was good!
He was about to enjoy it even more when the limo came to an abrupt and full stop. It was fortunate indeed that the girls were orally gifted otherwise he could have been really hurt. After all, no man wants to get an accidental 'Bobbitization' because some girl's jaw snapped shut. Now all he did was spill lager all over the car.
"Aw, come on, you wanker," Spike called out in annoyance to the driver, "can't you drive a li…."
Kretsch.
Kretsch.
Both the driver and the minder spasmed momentarily before slumping in their seats as two holes appeared in the front window.
"Aw bugger," Spike muttered as moving flashlights began to surround his car. As the two girls began to panic Spike reached for his trousers and zipped himself up.
"Spike, what's going on?" one of the girls asked scared.
"Change of plans, love," Spike said deadpan, "and don't worry your pretty heads, it's most definitely all because of me."
Spike coiled his leg muscles and then jumped right through the roof window, 40 feet into the air. No sooner had he done so as dozens of bullets riddled the limousine turning it into Swiss cheese.
"What a waste," Spike sighed briefly for the girls as he looked downwards. At least a dozen men dressed in black had surrounded the car and emptied their guns into the vehicle he had jumped from. Two black SUV's had sandwiched the limo, explaining why it had come to its untimely halt.
Coming down in a power pose Spike landed 20 feet from one of the black SUV's.
"He's getting away," one of the blackened commando's called. Instead of running Spike straightened his leather overcoat and took stock of the situation.
"What, you and your little pea shooters?" he snorted derisively. Guns had long ceased being a threat to him. They could still hurt though, or cause damage that would slow him down. Not any more since Angelus taught them the Big Scary's tricks. Now bullets would just bounce off him like he was superman.
To his surprise instead of riddling him with bullets the black commandos shouldered their machineguns and pulled forth something different. Next thing he knew Spike was dodging lightning bolts.
"Bugger this, I'm outta here," Spike muttered as he deflected yet another lightning bolt. If he wanted to deflect energy beams he could have stayed in Sunnydale. It would seem that New York had now outlasted its welcome as well.
As he ran as fast as he could (which was quite considerable) the black dressed commandos made for their SUV's and began to give chase. It wasn't long before they were chasing him through New York's night lit streets.
Soon a third car, of the same black SUV variety, almost struck him as it came racing out of a side street, with Spike only narrowly avoiding it by jumping over it. Racing into a side street of his own a lightning bolt struck a little to close to home for comfort.
Running through the alley, with three black unmarked SUV's in hot pursuit it dawned on Spike that now might be a good time to change tactics. After all, as a vampire he had done the chase game long enough to know that as long as you danced to somebody's else's tune you weren't going to come out on top.
It was time to stop dancing to their tune. If he had been fully rested he might have been able to outrun three SUV's. For a while. But he wasn't rested. He had gone through a grueling fight and the post match cigarettes didn't help either. What he still did have was greater strength and a few tricks up his sleeve.
While running Spike held his two arms apart and concentrated to form two globes of yellow energy in them. Which wasn't as easy as he'd thought as he stopped using energy attacks after leaving Sunnydale. And then there was the whole being chased by crazy blackened commandos in unmarked SUV's bit. But as soon as he felt he had amassed enough power he jumped into the air and fired off his chi.
But not to hit the three cars. The chi hit the ground right where he had been and created a large explosion. The three cars in hot pursuit hit the brakes almost immediately, but not soon enough. The second car was barely able to evade the blast by hitting a parked car, the third one came to a stop just in time. But the first car drove right into the heart of the blast.
Spike used the momentum of his blast to fly upwards, then used one hand to blast him sideways until he landed on top of one of the buildings.
"How do you like that, you bastards," he yelled defiantly downwards.
The reply came in half a dozen of lightning bolts vaporizing chunks of concrete around him.
To his horror he saw that some of the commandos used their comrades covering fire to climb up the walls towards . Faster then was humanly possible.
Were these commandos demons? Or vampires?
It was probably best not to find out. Anyone going to all of this length to get to him probably had done more then just their homework. They might actually have a plan.
So Spike braved the lightning bolts and shot two attacks down below that destroyed the two remaining cars. Then he ran away and jumped to the roof of another building.
"So long, suckers!" he said defiantly as the first commando reached the rooftop he just vacated.
While not going as fast as on the streets Spike was at least confident that without a car they wouldn't keep up with him. Glancing over his shoulder he saw that a few of the commandos were giving chase to him. And making decent time as well as they also were able to jump over streets from rooftop to rooftop.
This wasn't going so well as he had hoped. Because if they could more or less keep up with him on these rooftops, their friends down below could do so even more on the streets.
He needed to get rid of his pursuers.
Spike halted for a moment behind a large air-conditioning unit. Then he pulled himself on top of it and leaped right back towards the nearest commando.
He landed right in front of the surprised bugger before he had time to react and punched him with so much force in the chest his fist disappeared right into the ribcage, crushing the commando's heart.
"Human, huh?" Spike remarked as the commando spasmed around his fist. Then he pulled his fist out and before the commando could fall to the rooftop's floor he made a leap towards another one.
This one had seen what had befallen his comrade and tried to bring up his ray gun. But Spike chopped it right clean in two with one stroke. To his credit the commando resorted to hand to hand combat without blinking an eye. And put up quite a struggle to boot, forcing Spike to dig deep.
But his reserves were deep, deep enough to overcome the commando. He swatted away the commando's defenses and took him in a sleeper hold, followed by the snap of a broken neck.
Dropping the commando he wanted to jump towards the next one but instead was hit by a lightning bolt, causing excruciating pain to coarse through his body.
Fuck!
He staggered back from the impact, then got hit by another bolt, causing more pain.
Maybe it was not such a good idea after all to come back and try taking out these guys.
More bolts hit him now, as he spotted at least five more of them coming towards him, all firing their ray guns.
"NO! Not like this!" Spike exclaimed as he erected a bubble of chi to protect himself. A shimmering wall of energy surrounded him and deflected the lightning bolts. But the cost was enormous. Having never had more then the basics of Saiyan chi techniques his shield was crude and inefficient, causing him to hemorrhage energy at an enormous rate. Plus he was unable to do anything else but just stand there and maintain the shield.
Meanwhile the commandos closed in and continued to barrage him with lightning bolts.
Then something else happened. A series of concentric rings appeared out of nowhere and three more commandos appeared inside them, then the rings vanished leaving just the three commandos. They were carrying what appeared to be a large rocket launcher.
"You've got to be kidding me!" Spike exclaimed as the newcomers aimed their rocket launcher towards him, then fired it off. Like it almost went in slow motion Spike could see the projectile coming towards him, then it hit his shields causing a large explosion and tremor throughout his shield.
But as it exploded with a combined force of chemical explosion and kinetic impact the projectile weakened the shield just enough for a second projectile to pass through the shield. The smaller projectile seemed like it was guided or something for it came straight towards Spike and hit him in the neck.
"Bollocks to this!" Spike said as he reached for the dart like projectile and pulled it from his neck.
And that's when everything turned to black.
x
x
A-Day minus 312
x
"You have got to be kidding me," Travers exclaimed as he kept his distance from the unconscious vampire, "This is Spike!"
"Actually his designation is Hostile 17," Lieutenant Jackson interjected calmly.
"That is Spike," Travers said again pointing to the vampire, "William the Bloody. The only vampire in recent history to have bested two Slayers. Two Slayers!"
He kept looking at the lieutenant and Walsh like it actually meant anything to them.
"He tortured people with bloody railroad spikes for God sakes!" Travers said.
"He won't be torturing anybody," the lieutenant said calmly and held up a small electronics component, "We install these in all our test subjects."
"It's a neural inhibition chip," Walsh explained, "it prevents any HST from attacking a human by causing a sensory overload in their pain receptors. If he ever tries to attack a human being he will feel so much pain it will cause him to pass out."
"And that works?" Travers said incredulously as the lieutenant gave him the chip.
"Of course it does," Walsh said confidently, "I designed it."
Travers gave the chip a close look over. The Council used drugs to keep vampires placid by getting them addicted. This by contrast seemed like such a simple solution it almost felt like an insult that no one at the Council had come up with it. Then again it was ordinary. And most definitely American. Always hooked on electronics gadgets.
"I almost feel sorry for him now," he said as he handed the chip back to the lieutenant.
"Don't," the lieutenant said back, "he killed at least four of my men before we captured him. As far as I'm concerned he's just meat."
"Installing the chip has been the least of his improvements," Walsh said almost excited as she touched a computer and brought up a series of schematics on the big screen, "We not only gave him superior versions of the technology we found in the recovered android, we also installed miniaturized versions of captured Goa'uld technology inside him. He literally has the best of both worlds inside him."
Travers approached Spike cautiously and examined him.
"Amazing, I can't see anything," he said, feeling a sense of awe, then he looked at Walsh again, "I still do not feel comfortable with using a vampire though. Even with a chip they tend to be headstrong. It is not for nothing that they have been giving us the most trouble. There are many kinds of demon that are far more powerful or vicious. Yet its always vampires that cause us the most trouble."
"I feel better if we were to use demons instead for the project and destroy this one altogether. At the very least erase his mind completely so he won't cause us any more troubles. He always does."
"Have no worry, Sir Travers," Walsh said confidently, "Hostile 17 is just a prototype. We only used him because, well, he's the only one who survived the program this far. All the others died long before. That is why we need your help."
"When we were tracking Hostile 17 he exhibited behavior and tactics similar to those participants who took part in the US Air Force Babylon project," Jackson added, "Men who received training by the Alien. They now all exhibit increased agility, muscle speed, dexterity and strength. Hostile 17 has similar traits."
"It could be vampire related. They are known for their increased strength," Travers countered but Walsh shook her head
"The men under my command have received improvements that place them well above vampires and most demons," she said, "They are easily equal, if not better to those soldiers that have partaken in the US Air Force Babylon Project. It took them great guile to capture Hostile 17. He was at least ten times as strong as a regular vampire when we caught him. And as luck has it it turns out that Hostile 17 was reported as sighted in Sunnydale in 1998-99. When the Alien arrived on Earth."
"You think there is a connection?" Travers asked incredulously. But he knew the answer before she even gave it. Hell, he knew it even better then she did. Spike had been in that town during that time. And Rupert Giles had stated that Spike had been involved in many of the problems of that time, until he switched sides against Angelus and helped them defeat the Judge and Angelus. So who knew what had happened at the time?
What he did know was that Spike was reported to have joined the professional underground fighting circuit. Taking on demons that no vampire should be able to take. And win.
"I know there is a connection," Walsh said as she displayed some more graphs on the big screen, "as you can see Hostile 17 had increased vital statistics upon capture, making him the strongest HST we've captured so far. Which is why we were able to introduce so much improvements into him. But as I said before, we are reaching the limits of what we can do. Either we need better technology, or we need better knowledge on demons. And since we are unable to consult either Gero or the Goa'uld we must resort to the latter."
Walsh brought up some new designs and schematics that piqued Travers' interest.
"Now, this is what I have in mind," she said and began to explain. After she was finished Sir Cretin actually looked impressed.
"What we are trying to do," he said in awe, "this power, it's like unto the Gods."
x
x
A-Day minus 254
x
"Wake up."
"I can't."
"You will."
"I can't. Don't you think that I've tried, you git?"
"Try again."
"Sod off!"
The voice fell silent for a moment. Then it returned.
"So this is how it's going to be then, William? Never figured you for a quitter"
"Don't call me by that name, you git!"
"So there is some life in you left?"
"Sod off. Leave me alone."
"They're going to wipe your sorry ass and all you care about is moping?" the voice said incredulously, "You're pathetic. If Angel knew this he would laugh his ass off."
"Angel is dead. So sod off."
The voice said nothing for a while.
"Actually, you're wrong, but that's beside the point. Wake up, William! Also known as William the Bloody! Also known as Spike! Wake up before they will erase whatever is left of your sad vampiric existence and all that will be left of you is your pathetic undead carcass!"
The voice spoke with so much force that Spike couldn't help but open his eyes. As he did he noticed that he was looking towards a ceiling. Always the bloody ceiling.
It wasn't the first time he had awoken in this funny farm of the demonically insane looking up to the ceiling. Each time he had been helpless. Unable to move, like his body wasn't his anymore and just some unseen observer, while people dressed in sterile suits hovered over him.
But this time the ceiling was moving.
To his increasing surprise he could even move his head as he looked around. He was being dragged by two men on a trolley through what seemed like an endless white corridor.
"Get up, Spike," the voice in his head spoke again, "Get up and escape. Because once this 'ride' is over I won't be able to help you anymore. Once you 'arrive' it's going to be 'game over, man'."
Carefully not to alert the two goons pulling his trolley Spike tried to move his right hand and found that, again to his surprise, he could move it.
"Get up and kick their ass," the voice told him.
"Are you daft?" Spike thought back, "Nurse Ratchet told me she had implanted some chip in my brain. I can't hurt anybody."
"I can see that might be a problem," the voice conceded, "Still, there are other ways. They were going to turn you in some super soldier, remember? What good is a super soldier who can't hurt anyone? Maybe there is some de-activation switch or routine. Something to turn the thing off and on."
"If there is then they didn't tell me, you dumbass!" Spike thought back annoyed.
"Why do I even bother?" the voice responded dispirited.
Before Spike could respond one of the goons pulling Spike's trolley turned his head around.
"Oh bugger."
"He's awake," the goon said and reached for something that was on his side. The other goon turned around as well and did the same.
"Oh bugger," Spike said, now aloud.
Then something weird happened as time seemed to slow down, with the goons movement now reduced to a snails pace.
"Quick, do as I say," the voice said in Spikes mind and showed him something.
"You've got to be kidding me," Spike responded aghast, "I'll fry up faster then an Englishman in the sun."
"Have a little faith," the voice said with just a hint of condescending, "Just do it, you don't have much time to lose and if I may add, not much too lose anyway. Permanent erasing of your personality, remember?"
"Over my dead body," Spike thought back.
"Weren't you dead already?" the voice said droll.
"Ha, ha," Spike said annoyed. Then he sat up straight, faster then he ever could have done before his capture and brought the fingers of his hands to both temples of his head.
"TAIYO KEN!"
A blinding flash erupted from him and both goons reached for their faces, like they had seen directly into the sun. At point blank range. Still in slow motion though.
"Well I'll be damned," Spike said surprised, "it worked."
"Of course it would," the voice inside his head said smug, "Now if I may give you another suggestion, "this might be a good moment to bugger off?"
"Of course," Spike said and jumped off the trolley. As he ran away something occurred to him.
"Who the fuck are you?" he asked the voice, "Did I go insane in this place? Gone Dru or something?"
"Sanity is relative," the voice said chortling with glee.
"Very funny," Spike snorted, "Great, now I've gone bonkers too. Next thing I'll know Miss Edith will make an appearance."
"Maybe your former girlfriend was attuned to a higher level of consciousness? Maybe she actually did saw all the beings you thought were just imaginary? Have you ever considered that?" the voice asked.
"Look, figment of my imagination, "Spike said back, "I'm the first to admit that Dru was plugged into something. Always had been. Always been a bit loopy though. But never as much as after Prague. She never talked to invisible people before and….. aw, bugger! Just give it to me straight. Am I insane or not?"
"They say that sane people worry about being insane whereas the insane just know that they are sane," the voice responded.
"That's no answer," Spike grunted, "sane people also don't get tortured by Nurse Ratchet for God knows how long."
"You're as sane as you ever were," the voice replied offhand, "that is, as sane as a 140 year old human turned vicious demon filled vampire could ever be. So no, you're not talking to your former girlfriend's imaginary voice."
"Then who the fuck are you?"
"Let's just say that Drusilla isn't the only one attuned to voices from higher spheres," the voice said droll, "that a certain alien from another planet, who resides in Sunnydale California, also talks to voices inside his head. That he is also attuned to certain higher spheres. MY higher sphere."
"Aw bugger," Spike groaned, "don't tell me it was you who sent the Big Scary this way?"
"Well, don't be so droll, Spike? Curse him for all you want but once you escape, who otherwise will be able to protect you from Nurse Ratchet and her goon squads?"