Logan had just finished getting the dinner supplies for the next few nights, and was on his way to replenish the beer that he and Remy had killed the night before when his cell phone buzzed at him. Muttering that he never got two minutes alone anymore, he punched the talk button and held the phone to his ear.
"Yeah?" he said.
"Mr. Logan, it's Kitty!" came a very excited voice over the earpiece, "You gotta come back now! There's been a…accident!"
"Kitty, calm down!" he commanded, "What happened?"
"Remy and Ms. Munroe, they've been hurt! Bobby said not to call an ambulance, call you instead!"
"Good call, take 'em down to medical, and call that McTaggart woman." Logan replied.
"We already have," came Kitty's voice again, "She's on her way, and Bobby organized the boys to carry them down. But we don't know what's wrong with them, and Rogue's missing, and the library's a mess, what do we do now?" Her voice was rising again.
"Keep cool, Pryde, an' do what McTaggart tells you. I'll be there in ten minutes." Logan hit the end key, killing the connection as he was running towards the parking lot. He needed to know what was going on, but grilling Kitty wouldn't do any good. He had to get back to the mansion.
Dr. Moira McTaggart was an attractive woman in her late forties, with the red hair and fair skin that one associated with the Scottish. While her face was normally soft and kind, right now she had an emergency to deal with, and no time for any delays. She jumped off of the private helicopter she used to arrive from New York before the engines had even finished shutting down, and ran full speed towards the mansion. Inside the chopper, Sean Cassidy finished the shut down procedures, then leapt onto the basketball court himself, not even closing the door before he followed the woman he loved.
They were both old friends of Charles Xavier, and in fact had met because of him. Only Sean was a mutant however. Although he'd never been one of the Professor's students, he'd worked with the man several times. He ran a hand through his sandy blond hair as he entered the building, thinking how fortunate it had been that he and Moira were in the states, and in New York when the call came. They'd been planning to attend the same conference as the Professor, but a flight delay out of Scotland had kept them a day behind. They had overnighted in the big apple before moving on, and enjoyed a night on the town.
"How're they then?" He asked as he entered the MedLab, his Irish brogue coming out in full.
"Well, I dinna think there's permanent damage," Moira replied, moving from Ororo to Remy. Apparently some of the children had already been trained in how to set up the lab. Everything was ready for her to begin as soon as she arrived. "I'll nae know f'sure until I ken wha' did this." She finished.
Sean looked over at Bobby Drake, standing nervously off to the side. "Tell me everything ye know, lad." He said gently.
Wesley and Gunn had just parked the GTX when they saw the doors to the Hyperion standing open. With just a glance at each other, they ran to the doors, placing themselves against the wall in case someone was inside who shouldn't be. Wesley peered around the corner of the doorframe and saw the damage was already done. "Looks like we're too late…" he mumbled to Gunn as he walked in.
"Check on Cordelia," he told the youth, as he ran to Angel, who was trying to pull himself up using the banister of the staircase. He saw the hole in Angel's chest, and realized how much pain the vampire must be in.
"What happened?"
"Whatever took those other demons," Angel gasped out, pointing to one of the columns. Right about chest level, a second bone Shuriken was imbedded into the stone. "Lucky I'm already dead."
Cordelia was starting to come around, and Gunn helped her sit up, "Oh, that was worse than a vision…" she moaned. "Almost."
"Go check…Professor," Angel hissed out, "I'll be okay…few minutes." Wesley helped him into a sitting position and ran over to Xavier. He rolled the Professor onto his back, and checked for vital signs. Pulse and respiration were good, but he wasn't sure if he should try to wake Xavier up. The Professor solved his dilemma for him, groaning and starting to regain consciousness.
"Professor," he asked softly, "Are you alright?"
"They've taken Henry," Xavier replied, "Sabretooth and four other mutants." He pulled himself into a sitting position. "They took us completely by surprise."
"Well, according to our sources, that's the modus operandi of our demon-nappers."
"I suspect that they are one and the same," Xavier said. "But I honestly have no idea why."
Scott and Jean came running in at that point, both ready for action. Jean immediately switched into medical mode when she realized that there was no threat. Xavier waved her off and requested she make sure Cordelia was alright.
"Professor, I'm sorry…" Scott started, "We should…"
"Scott, stop right there," the Professor said, "It would have made no difference. By the time we realized they were attacking, the fight was over." Silently, he marveled at how smoothly the operation had been carried out. "They obviously waited until there were as few of us as possible, then came in fast and hard. I only recognized Sabretooth, but there were four other mutants with him."
"I'll call Logan and have him start checking the database," Scott said. "If we can find out who they are, perhaps we can figure out what they want." He was walking towards the phone when it rang. As he looked over at the AI crew, he saw them still getting to their feet and decided to go ahead and answer it.
"Angel Investigations," he said, "we…" he tried to remember what Cordelia had said, "help the hopeless."
"You takin' a second job, Slim?" came Logan's voice.
"Logan?"
"Yup. Chuck left a message with this number. We got a problem here." Scott could hear the stress in Logan's voice.
"Hang on, you're not alone, let me get the Professor." He turned to Xavier and Jean. "It's Logan. He says there's a problem."
As the two came over to the phone, Scott switched it over to speaker mode.
"What has happened Logan?" asked the Professor.
"Seems we had ourselves a B&E with a little kidnappin' on the side, Chuck. Buncha unknown mutants came in, trashed 'Ro and the Cajun, took off with Rogue." Now Scott could understand the stress he heard, Logan looked at Rogue like a kid sister.
"Interesting," said Xavier, "The same thing happened here with Henry."
"You think they're connected Professor?" asked Scott.
"I don't believe in coincidence, Scott," Xavier replied, "And these two incidents seem to have happened almost simultaneously."
"I'm with you, Chuck," came Logan's voice over the speaker. "So what do we do about it?"
Xavier waited a moment before replying, weighing his options. "Logan, how are Remy and Ororo?"
"Cajun's right here, 'Ro's still a bit shaky, but pretty much all right," came the reply, "Moira says she took quite a jolt." Something was being said in the room to Logan, something very fast, and very Scottish. "Oh, and uh…yer damn lucky me and Sean were still in New York, if yer gonna be havin' this kind of thing, mister. That was a direct quote."
Xavier smiled in spite of the situation; Moira McTaggart was never one to keep her mind to herself. "Logan, ask Moira if she and Sean would mind watching the students for a little while."
Logan relayed the message, and more fast talk could be heard. This time, Xavier's ears actually started burning. "I'll take that as a yes?" he asked.
"Hang on, she aint finished," the cursing finally stopped, and Logan said, "That it? Good. Yeah Chuck, they'll stay. But you seriously owe her one."
"Agreed," said Xavier, "I'd like for you three to bring the Blackbird out and meet us in LA. You should be here by this evening." Xavier paused for a moment, "And bring Scott and Jean's uniforms." Xavier turned back to their hosts. "Angel, I hate to impose…"
"We help the hopeless, Professor," said Cordelia.
"Besides," added Gunn, "Wesley actually runs the agency."
"Yes, Mr. Gunn, however, I need to know if I can park an airplane in the back parking lot. I believe the hotel is actually Angels?"
"Yes, Professor," answered Angel, "It is. Use the lot, and I'll make sure there are enough rooms for you and your people." He turned to Wesley, "Is it safe to think we're working on the same case?"
"Indubitably," the Englishman answered, "I also don't believe in coincidence." He turned to the Professor, "I think we'll get much further together than separately."
"Logan, we'll place a beacon where you're to land the plane."
"Gotcha," came the reply, "We're on the way." The line went dead.
Xavier turned his chair to face Scott.
"I have an errand for you," he said.
"Errand, Professor?" asked Scott.
"Scott, you need to take a day and go see your cousins. We'll start working on finding out what we can, and we'll make sure you're here before we move. If you don't at least take this small opportunity, your mind won't be fully where it needs to be." Xavier reached over, clasping Scott's arm. "It's alright, Scott. I want you to go see Buffy and Dawn."
"I don't know…"
"Scott," said Jean, "You need to do this. Go now." She took his face in her hands and gently kissed him. "They're the last of your family, except for Alex, and you don't know where he is. Go."
Scott smiled down at her, "I love you, you know that?"
"I know," she smiled back.
Scott went to the room they had used to get an overnight bag. Cordelia looked over at Wesley, "In love much?" she asked, grinning.
Xavier turned his attention to Cordelia, "Now then, Cordelia, perhaps we might do better looking for that Shuriken in relation to terrorists?"
"Well," she responded, "I'll give it a shot, but I'm not the best detective in the world if it doesn't relate to things that go 'Rharr' in the night."
"However," Wesley thought out loud. "Professor, would you mind if I asked Scott to run an errand for us while he's in Sunnydale?"
"I see no reason to," the Professor answered him, "What did you have in mind?"
"Since we now have two of these Shuriken to study, I thought I might send one of them to Willow Rosenberg. She's one of Buffy's friends, and quite the expert when it comes to getting information from…ahm, restricted sources."
"Such as top secret government databases relating to mutant terrorists?" suggested Cordelia.
"Quite," Wesley responded. "I'll go retrieve the first one we found," he glanced at the second Shuriken embedded in the column, "We'll work on getting that one out after Angel recovers." He headed towards the back offices.
Scott had returned and was ready to leave, stopping to kiss Jean again as they passed, he headed towards the Professor, who was now discussing search strategies with Cordelia.
"Professor," he said, "I'll be back tomorrow afternoon."
"Of course, Scott," Xavier replied. He gestured towards Wesley, who was now returning to the main lobby with a small box in his hands. "Would you be so kind as to deliver this to one of Buffy's comrades?"
Scott took the box from Wesley, who elaborated, "Willow Rosenberg. Ask her to see if she can find anything out in relation to mutant terrorists."
"She's a hacker?" Scott asked.
"A good one," Wesley confirmed. "Once we get the other Shuriken removed from that column…"
"Oh, hang on," Scott said, removing his glasses. He reached into his bag with his eyes closed and withdrew a small visor. Placing it over his eyes, he walked over to the column and examined the Shuriken embedded in it.
"Piece of cake," he muttered, rotating a small dial on the side of the visor.
Suddenly, a bright red beam shot from his eyes to the column. Barely the width of a toothpick, it lasted just a second before he twisted the dial the other direction. Reaching out with his other hand, he caught the now freed Shuriken as it fell from the column.
"Remarkable," said Wesley as Scott handed him the Shuriken.
Inside the laboratory, things had changed in the last several hours. The damaged systems were repaired, the entire area had been cleaned, and quite a few Plexiglas cages were now set up around the walls. Each of them held a different sort of demon, one was empty, and one other held a still unconscious Henry McCoy. On one wall, the remains of the creature called "Adam" had been chained, arms outstretched, torso and legs strapped securely. The man who had been called Doctor sat at one of the arrays of computer screens. Behind him stood Victor Creed, with the others who had staged the raid on Angel Investigations milling at various points of the lab.
"I'm fascinated by the fact that Adam placed surveillance cameras all over downtown Sunnydale," the Doctor said. "Seems he enjoyed studying his prey, down to the last possible…" he broke off, staring at one screen where a man was stepping out of an obvious rental car. He wasn't overly tall, but something in the way he walked suggested that he was quite capable of taking care of himself. As he closed the car door, he pulled his ponytail back away from his shoulders, and adjusted his sunglasses. The monitor was in black in white, but he appeared to be blond.
"You annoying little insect," the Doctor muttered. He pointed to the screen, "Victor," he commanded, "It's that Private Investigator from St. Louis. Make sure he doesn't survive the night. I've no time for minor distractions right now."
Creed watched the man enter a store called "The Magic Box."
"You got it, boss"
Anya Christina Emanuella Jenkins (good American citizen and definitely not a former vengance demon) turned from the shelves she was stocking as the door to the shop opened, indicating a potential customer. Or possibly one of the gang, she mused, brushing a stray lock of strawberry blonde hair from her face. She really hoped it was a customer, since they gave her money in exchange for goods, and therefore justified her continued employment at The Magic Box. When she noticed that it was indeed not one of the Scoobies, she put on her brightest smile, and approached the potential purchaser of magical supplies.
"Hello!" she said as the door closed, "May I help you find the item you're going to purchase?"
The customer pulled his sunglasses down onto his nose, and looked at her with blue eyes. He didn't look like the usual customer who bought things here, Anya thought, what with the tailored pants and sports jacket. She caught a glimpse of a pendant when his shirt collar opened up as he dropped his arm back down, and recognized it as Mjolliner, the hammer of Thor.
"Oh, your Asaturar!" she exclaimed. "We don't have much, but I think there's a copy of Grimm's third volume in the loft." She gestured to the packed bookshelves of the stores second level, "I know you're kind is big into the scholarly thing. I find it helpful to research non-mainstream religions," she added conspiratorially, "It helps me to sell things."
The stranger's grin was threatening to split his face in two, and he held up his hands to silence Anya.
"Actually, I was just looking for Rupes. He around?" he asked.
"Rupes? Oh, you mean Mr. Giles!" she replied, "I think he's in…" she hesitated just a second, realizing that saying "In a training session with Buffy," would probably not endear her to her employer, so instead she turned to the back and said "…his office in the back. I'll go get him for you," as she turned back to ask his name, she noticed that he had started walking directly towards the door to the back, and in fact was almost there.
"Hey!" she shouted, "You can't…"
She was too late, the stranger stood there, door open, his hand on the knob, seeing the man he was looking for wearing protective gear while a lithe blonde girl apparently tried very hard not to beat the crap out of him.
"Bad time, Rupes?" he asked, a smile twitching one side of his mouth.
Rupert Giles was not one to get caught off guard very often, but this was one of those days. As the blonde fell back from an advance position, he looked up at the man who was addressing him.
"Nick?" he muttered, adjusting his wire-rim glasses and taking a second look. He then began walking towards the man, removing the padding from his right arm and extending his hand, "Nicholas Graydon, I'll be damned!"
"How the hell are you, Rupert?" Graydon replied, taking the ex-librarian's hand in his own and shaking. "I like the new look, get tired of tweed?"
"Well," the Englishman sighed, "Thing's do change, you know."
"Mr. Giles," Anya interrupted, "I tried to stop him, but…"
"It's alright Anya," Giles told her, "I don't think much of anything would stop this man once his mind is made up."
"Friend of yours, Giles?" the blonde he'd been training with asked as she came over. Graydon noticed the slight darkness under the eyes, and a few very obvious signs of recent stress. Otherwise, she was rather pretty, with blue eyes and fair skin that matched her hair, lighter than his own locks. He could guess what part of the stress was caused by.
"Ah, yes," Giles harrumphed. "Nicholas Graydon, I'd like to introduce you to Buffy Summers," he gestured to the blonde at his side, and Graydon reached out his hand again.
"The Slayer," he stated, "An honor, m'lady"
"You…know me?" Buffy asked.
"Educated guess. I know Rupes here is with the Watchers, and that he came to Sunnydale for an assignment. Also, I noticed you trying not to hurt him a few moments ago."
Giles reddened slightly, "Well, she is quite talented," he commented.
"Trust me, Buffy," Graydon said, "Rupert's pretty hard headed himself. You shouldn't worry about him so much."
"Uhm, Anya?" Giles asked, "Would you mind keeping up the front? I suspect that Nicholas is here for some information that would be best kept to ourselves."
"Okay," Anya replied, "I'll go watch the door and count the money." She smiled at that last, and bounced away.
"Nice kid," Graydon commented, "How long she been human?"
Giles and Buffy both stared at him, her jaw slightly agape.
"You see a few ex-demons, you know how to spot the signs." Graydon commented, "You got anything to drink around here Rupe?"
Giles recovered his composure, "Of course," he said. "Scotch alright?"
"Spectacular. I really need a drink." Graydon held the door for the other two as they exited into the front of the store.
"So, Nick," Buffy asked as Giles gestured towards the round table in the center of the lower section of the store, "How do you know Giles?"
"We met about seven years ago," Giles answered for the other, retrieving the scotch from it's hiding place. "I was in the States doing some research for the council before I was assigned to you."
"I was working for the FBI at the time," Graydon added, "Weird case in Cape Cod. Giles and I ended up in the middle of some cult trying to resurrect an ancient sea demon."
"What happened?" Anya asked, as she sat down.
"We were too late," Giles said, pouring drinks for himself and Graydon. "Kraktoz was awakened, and I knew of no spell to send him back." He took a drink of the single malt. "Nick here came up with a workable solution."
"Which was…?" Buffy prompted.
"Whale harpoon," Graydon said, "with a few sticks of dynamite duct tapped to it. Museum was pissed though.."
"We kept in touch by mail after that. We met again in Saint Louis a little over a year later," Giles added, "I was on my way here, and we literally ran into each other at Lambert International."
"I'd quit the Bureau by then, fell in with some…unusual private investigators in Saint Louis, taking cases no one else could solve. Almost all of them have a supernatural connection of some form. Ran into Rupes at just the right time. Gave me a chance to pick his brain on English folklore for a case I was on."
"How'd that turn out anyway?" Rupert asked. "I gathered you solved it, but you've never mentioned it in any of your letters."
"You were right, but I got there too late." Graydon answered. He took a drink, and pulled out a cigarette.
"Hey, you can't …" Buffy started, but was quieted by Giles hand. The Englishman silently got up and retrieved an empty can to be used as an ashtray.
"What happened?" he prompted.
"Alexis has been blind ever since." Graydon said quietly. "Somehow, I missed the trap. Bastard almost killed her." He finished his scotch, and Giles poured him another.
"You know, I've talked to her on the phone a few times," Giles said, "She's a good contact for information in the Midwest area, and she never mentioned that."
"She wouldn't, she's cool with it." Graydon answered, "I'm the one that's pissed. Although, if you don't know she's blind, you can't tell. It's kind of weird."
"Weird is a way of life for some folks," Buffy said.
"True," Graydon replied. Then he smiled. "But, I'm in town on business. I was hoping you could help me out."
"If I can, I will." Giles answered.
"I'm looking for a man. Tall, black hair and eyes. He keeps the hair slicked back against his head. Usually dressed pretty well. Most likely, he'd have purchased an old laboratory if there is one available." Graydon said. He pulled a photograph out of his inside jacket pocket, and set it on the table. "Black and white surveillance photo," he said, "Bit grainy, but it's the only one in existence as far as I know. The company that hired me for this job originally took it. His name is Dr. Michael Milbury. He worked for them on some bio-tech research, and took off with some…important data."
"Well he might not have to purchase a lab around here," Giles started, "There's two or three empty corporate centers that have…"
"Giles," Buffy interrupted, "I'm sure that Nick thinks this is important, but we have something a bit larger to worry about than stolen bio-tech."
"Buffy, I haven't forgotten about what is happening, but I'm certain…"
"No buts, Giles," Buffy said emphatically, "We're talking lives here, remember."
"So am I." Gradon added quietly. "More than you realize."
"What are you talking about?" Buffy asked.
"Originally, I was told that Milbury had stolen data relating to bio-engineering DNA in the seed stage. Later, the CEO told me that while he'd been hired to work on that project, he'd actually developed a technique for altering the DNA of living structures. When it was found out, he was fired, and the data was supposed to be destroyed. Milbury had backed it up off-site, however. They tracked the link, but he was long gone." Graydon paused a moment and took another drink. "Thing is, this technology could not only alter plant life, but animal DNA structures as well."
"Good Lord," breathed Giles. "You mean he could completely change the genetic structure of any living creature?"
"Exactly," replied Graydon, "That kind of knowledge…we're not ready for it. I have to stop Milbury before he finishes this work. He could give 'Playing God' a whole new meaning. He could literally build soldiers to order. Or a weapon that would turn your enemies into piles of goo."
"I stand corrected." Buffy said to Giles. "This is important." She turned to Graydon. "I can show you the buildings Giles was talking about?"
"Sound's good to me." Graydon answered. "And, thank you."
"No Prob. Hey, Anya," she asked the ex-demoness, "You mind calling Willow and asking if she could keep an eye on Dawn for a bit longer?"
"Why don't I ask if they can have dinner with us?" Anya said, "Xander and I can take care of Dawn if you're not back by five."
Buffy stopped for a minute and realized just how far the young woman now named Anya Jenkins had come into their lives in the past year. And she also realized how much she had come to care for the ex-demoness.
"That'd be great," she replied. "C'mon, Nick, scenic Sunnydale awaits."
It was around two when Scott Summers pulled up to 1630 Revello Drive, the address that Cordelia had given him. A modest two story, with a small yard and a couple of large oaks in the front. He wasn't really sure what he was going to say, what could he say? Hi, remember me?
After a few minutes he finally gave up on the urge to simply turn around and drive back to LA, and stepped out of the car. He walked slowly up to the front door, still trying to find the right words. It was something of a relief when no one answered after the third ring.
Scott returned to the car and started the engine. During the long discussion the previous night, the LA crew had made it very clear that Buffy Summers had a very important role in this town, so not finding her at home wasn't that surprising. He chuckled to himself thinking how quickly he had come to accept the existence of something like the Hellmouth. Of course, once you discovered you really were talking with a vampire, a lot of other things suddenly became much more believable. He dug into the glove box for the notes that Cordelia had written out. Ah, there. The Magic Box. And brief directions. He set the note down in the passenger seat and put the car into Drive.
As he turned the corner headed west, he let his mind wander over his reason for coming here. It was true that he'd stayed in touch with the LA Summers until about five years ago, right after Joyce's visit. He always enjoyed the letters from Joyce, and it now occurred to him that it was always she who wrote. Never Hank Summers, not once. He remembered the visits that his parents would take he and his younger brother Alex on. They always had a great time, particularly when the Summers Brothers and the Summers Sisters would get Aunt Joyce to take them to the beach. Looking back on it however, with and adults eyes, he could see that Uncle Hank wasn't all that nice a guy, even then. He always seemed cold towards his family, and he could remember overhearing his mother and father discussing things on the way back home. Alex was always asleep after about an hour on the road, but Scott simply closed his eyes and rested, so he always heard the conversations that occurred in the front seat. But everyone loved Joyce. She was one of those people that would just give everything she had for someone she cared about. Sitting up in the kitchen late at night after a nightmare, hot chocolate and a loving ear. Scott felt tears forming in his eyes as the memories came to him, and he truly regretted not doing more to keep in touch. Somehow, once the X-Men had been fully trained, they always seemed to be in the middle of one disaster or another.
His mind drifted on to Alex for a bit, and he wondered where he was. After the plane crash that killed their parents, Scott and Alex both were put into an orphanage. They were just far enough apart in years that Alex was adopted quickly, and Scott wasn't. They never saw each other again. Scott had tried to find his brother again, only to be stonewalled by red tape, sealed records, and the simple fact that no one wanted to help.
He put these thoughts away as he saw his destination. Parking just down the street, he hoped that someone was at the shop, because otherwise he had nowhere else to look. The "Open" sign could be seen clearly, removing his last refuge. He shrugged, and started to walk towards the shop, when he heard gunshots. A few seconds later, a very familiar sounding roar came from the park at the other end of the street.
"Sabretooth?" he said, bewildered. Didn't they just fight him in LA? He quickly grabbed his collapsible visor from his bag, exchanging it for his regular glasses, and started running towards the sound.
Buffy Summers and Nicholas Graydon had finished their exploration of abandoned lab sites. There were only three that were still unoccupied, the others had already been bought, refurbished, and were open for business again. The three remaining were all in the same shape, a bit dusty, and very obviously not the hiding spot of one Doctor Michael Milbury. The two investigators made their way through Weatherly Park heading back towards the Magic Box.
"Okay, so maybe it won't be so easy," Buffy was saying, "But there are probably some other spots we could check out."
"I'm not even sure that he's here," Graydon replied, "I don't know that we'll get any further today."
"Well at least I had a quiet walk through Sunnydale as opposed to the usual slayage filled fun-fest," Buffy said with a smile, "And for that, I thank you."
"Anytime," Graydon said back, "After flying into LA and driving down here, I definitely needed a walk. I take it your patrols tend to keep you occupied?"
"Most definitely," Buffy sighed, "Although, lately, seems to be a bit more downtime, almost like something decided that loosing my mom was enough on me for a bit."
"You're mom…"
"She died a month ago."
"I'm sorry," Graydon replied softly, "I know the feeling."
"I kinda thought so. Seems easy to talk to you."
"Kindred spirits kind of thing, I'm sure. How're you holding up, with your mom passing, I mean."
"Good days, bad days," Buffy ran a hand up and rubbed the back of her neck. "I haven't really had time to think much about it, with Glory and…" she put her hand up to her mouth, realizing that she hadn't meant to bring that subject up to a stranger.
"Glorificus?" Graydon asked, "She's here?"
"You know about her?"
"A little," he responded, "My employer keeps track of these kind of things. I take it the key is somewhere in Sunnydale then?"
"You could say that," Buffy replied openly.
"No wonder you looked wiped out earlier."
Graydon stopped suddenly, tensing.
"You have a sense about when something demonic is about, yes?" he asked.
"Usually," she replied quietly, "I'm not getting anything."
"That's because it's not demonic, blondie," came a voice from behind them.
Both of them spun around, Buffy reaching instinctively for her favorite stake, Mr. Pointy. Graydon on the other hand, was holding a Smith and Wesson nine-millimeter pistol in each hand by the time he'd turned around fully, and was pointing them both towards the voice.
"Boo," said Victor Creed, with a smile that had been known to cause men to faint.
Buffy wasted no time in taking the offensive, and launched herself into a flying kick that had knocked many a vampire flat on their undead asses.
Creed however, batted her aside like she was moving in slow motion. Buffy flew head over heels to the side, coming to a stop when her back impacted a tree. It was only her enhanced endurance and strength that saved her from a broken back.
Graydon opened fire the instant Buffy was no longer directly between him and Creed. Six shots from each weapon, all fired within two seconds, and placed in a small circle into the chest. Nine-millimeter rounds have much less kick than some of the higher gauge pistols, but the impact of twelve consecutive rounds within one breath was more than sufficient to drop their assailant. Creed flew backwards and lay unmoving on his back.
Graydon ran over to Buffy and helped her up to her feet.
"Well," she said, "That's one way to deal with a threat."
"Works for…" he stopped as a load roar came from the direction that the attacker had fallen. They both looked over in time to see Creed standing up, the twelve holes in his chest were closing up, and there was an easily identified look on his face.
Very. Pissed. Off.
"Aw, crap," muttered Buffy and Graydon simultaneously.
"Now what?" asked Graydon.
"Looks like we're in for a fight," answered Buffy.
Creed advanced towards the duo, then stopped, looking directly over their heads at something behind them.
"I'm not falling for…" Buffy started. But then she and Graydon both turned to look when Creed leapt up and to the side, avoiding a scarlet beam of pure force that tore chunks of ground out in its wake.
Scott Summers took his hand from his visor as Creed decided he was outnumbered once more, and disappeared into the tree line.
"Are you two alright?" he asked, all business.
"We're fine, thank you," replied Graydon.
"Yeah, except for wondering just what happened here," added Buffy.
"It's…kind of hard to explain," said Scott, caught for the first time having to explain his mutation to some one. He'd done things like this before, but never just out of the blue. He usually was long gone before questions started.
"Educated guess? I'd say you're a mutant, and so was he," Graydon said calmly, holstering his weapons under his jacket.
"Okay, so maybe it's not so hard to explain," Scott said.
"Mutants," Buffy commented, "That's a first…" She turned to Graydon, "We'd better get back to The Magic Box. Giles'll want to know about this."
Scott stared for a moment, reconstructing a face he hadn't seen since he was a child into the young woman standing before him.
"Buffy..?" he asked, hesitating.
"Do I know you?" she asked in turn.
Scott brushed a stray lock of hair off his forehead and smiled, and something about the gesture caught Buffy's attention.
"It has been quite a while…" he started.
Suddenly, she knew that smile, and the stray lock of hair that always had to be brushed aside.
"Scotty?" she asked, her eyes misting up.
"It's me," he affirmed.
"Scotty!" Buffy cried, throwing herself around him in a fierce bear hug, "Scotty, where have you been? Mom's…" her voice caught.
"I know, I just found out last night," he whispered, holding her tight, "I'm so sorry, Buffy."
"Oh, God, Scotty…" she sobbed.
They stood like that for quite a while, and Graydon quietly stepped around them and found a bench a bit down the path. He sat and smoked quietly, not listening to the soft sobbing coming from the young woman, or the gentle reassurances from the young man.
Finally, Buffy regained her composure. She gently backed out of the hug and promptly punched Scott in the arm.
"OW!" he cried out, "What was that for?"
"Where were you? We haven't heard from you since we moved from LA."
"Well," Scott replied, "I wrote a couple of times, but I didn't have this address. I guess the letters never got forwarded." He looked down at his cousin, "I suppose that after the divorce, Aunt Joyce just got too busy."
"Y'know," Buffy said, "She kept telling me she intended to drop you a quick note and let you know where we were, and what happened. But she always had something going on with her shop, and then…she got sick."
"If I'd known, I would have been here, Buffy, you know that, right?"
"Of course I do," she smiled up at him. "Always my gallant knight, that's my Scotty."
She was referring to an incident at the beach when she was about ten, and he a little past twelve. One of the other boys had decided to start harassing Buffy and Dawn, and Scott had put him in his place and sent him scurrying off with a bloody nose. Scott's parents read him the riot act that night, and sent him off to bed early as punishment for fighting, but Joyce Summers had brought him up brownies later on, and thanked him for watching out for Buffy and Dawn. At twelve years old, Scott Summers looked into his Aunt Joyce's eyes and told her that he would always take care of his cousins.
"Buffy, could you please just call me Scott?" he asked, sheepishly.
Buffy Summers, for the first time in quite a while, just started laughing. Laughed so hard, in fact, that she had to sit down. And it really felt pretty good.
Adam had been aware of time. Although his power supply had been removed, he had been designed with an emergency sustentation system that would supply just enough energy to keep his memory intact, thereby preventing potential data loss. So he knew when the two strangers had entered the lab. He knew of the cleanup work that had taken place. And he knew what Hell must be like.
Then, slowly, he could actually perceive more of his surroundings. His eyesight started to come back. He could feel his extremities, although just barely. Running a self-diagnostic of his computerized systems, he could tell that he had been hooked into the main power of the labs generators. As his vision finally focused true, he saw the one who had been referred to as "Doctor." Tall and gaunt, with a sharp goatee and mustache. Coal black, as was his hair.
"What…" he started, before his voice went away again.
"Easy, Adam," the Doctor replied smoothly, "you haven't used your vocal processors, or your lungs for that matter, for almost a year."
"Why?" rasped the cyborg.
"You have some uniqueness to your genetic structure that intrigues me. From Dr. Walsh's notes, I determined that she could avoid necropsy in deceased tissue, but that it required an ongoing supply of her chemical mixture to maintain. You, on the other hand, have been altered. The chemical needed seems to be excreted on a cellular level. Genius, I must admit."
The Doctor checked a reading on the small panel next to Adam, and turned one knob counter-clockwise slightly.
"Hmm, your power levels are high enough, I think," he commented.
"For…what?" asked Adam.
"My dear Adam," the Doctor sighed, "I need to download all available data on your DNA. Particularly that relating to how Dr. Walsh was able to avoid tissue rejection during the grafting of the demonic part of your structure. After I have that, well, I'm sure that I could study your uniqueness for years."
Adam could no longer speak, the power just wasn't there. He felt a connection being made in his processing unit, and could feel the data being pulled from him.
At that point, Victor Creed returned to the lab.
"Ah, Victor," the Doctor cried with mock gladness, "My insect problem is solved, yes?"
"No." Creed stated plainly.
"You failed me again?" the man called Doctor asked sharply. "Remind me, exactly, why did I hire you?"
"The boy scout. I had cornered Graydon , and even with the Slayer, no problem. He came outta nowhere."
The Doctor narrowed his eyes. Xavier had tracked them somehow. And now his agents had fallen in with the Slayer, through circumstances he could not have foreseen. However, he did have some plans in place for just such an occurrence.
"Victor, I want you to deliver a message for me."
Cordelia pushed back from the computer screen and rubbed her eyes.
"Nothing," she said plainly, "No police reports, no records of our mutants, nothing."
"Maybe we're looking in the wrong place," said Angel, brining her a cup of coffee.
"I'm sure we are," commented Xavier, "Unfortunately, I have no idea where the right place to look would be."
"Cordelia," Jean asked, "What about your visions? Can they help?"
"No, 'fraid not," the brunette replied. "They come only when they're sent, and it's pure hell on me."
"So what then," asked Wesley, "Is there any other source of information we can tap?"
Cordelia sat thinking for a minute, not wanting to say what she was contemplating. Finally, she sighed, and looked over at Jean.
"Can you sing?" she asked.
Willow Rosenberg wasn't sure exactly what was going on. Anya had called the dorm room she shared with Tara McClay shortly after two, with a message from Buffy that she would be late, and would Willow and Tara mind watching after Dawn a bit longer. Then Xander calls about four, and says he just got an out of the blue bonus, and he's taking his favorite girls out to dinner tonight. When Willow informed him that Buffy was unavailable, he simply chuckled and asked how pizza sounded to everyone, he'd be glad to pick it up, and they could all eat at the Magic Box. No sooner does he arrive with said pizza, that Buffy calls, and asks for everyone to come down to the shop, there's something going on, and someone she want's them to meet, but don't tell Dawn anything, just bring her. So after a quick phone call to add two more pies to the stack, and a short stop to retrieve said pies, all of them; Willow, Tara, Dawn, and Xander, made their way into the only magical supply store in Sunnydale, California.
Dawn was holding the door so Xander could get in with the six pizza boxes, when Buffy called her name.
"Someone here to see you," she said.
Dawn turned and looked at the tall young man, and he smiled at her. Since he was wearing his glasses instead of his visor, his face was less hidden, and she recognized him instantly.
"SCOTTY!!!!" she screamed, throwing herself across the room and literally leaping into his arms. As Scott struggled to retain his balance, Buffy started laughing again.
"I don't think it's ever going to change, Scott." She said, giggling, and then walked over to the group of friends affectionately referred to as "The Scooby Gang" to update them on the day's events and introduce them to her cousin.
"Wake up, Doctor. Your brilliant mind is much needed."
Henry McCoy opened his eyes, and immediately wished he'd remained unconscious. He was in a Plexiglas cell, one of many from the looks of it. The others were populated with various sizes and shapes of…well, they must be the missing demons that Angel Investigations were tracking, he mused. Most of them were humanoid, although they ranged from grotesque to simply massive. And in one cell lay a young woman with light skin and dark hair. Hank noticed the twin streaks of white that framed her face. All of them, like himself, were secured firmly down.
"Ah, much better. Welcome, Dr. McCoy." The voice said.
Hank turned his attention to where the voice came from, a shadowed computer console. The owner of the voice stepped forward, and he was holding a syringe in one hand.
"And you might be?" Hank asked.
"My name is Nathaniel Essex," the man replied, "Doctor Nathaniel Essex. I doubt you've heard of me."
"There was a Doctor Nathaniel Essex in Chicago in the sixties," McCoy commented, "I believe he was disbarred for his unethical work regarding genetic experimentation. Any relation?"
The gaunt man smiled.
"Indeed, I am he."
"Impossible," Hank snorted, "Essex would be in his late fifties by now. You're what, thirty?"
"Oh, not impossible," Essex hissed, "What you see as youth is the result of years of work. You see, I have known of the coming age of mutation for some time, and have worked to ensure that the genetic potential of humanity is reached." Setting down the syringe, he started rolling up his sleeve.
"To that end," he continued, "I have modified my own genetic structure, ensuring that I would live long enough to finish my work. However," he paused, swabbing the inside of his arm, "It has now become apparent that I must be more active in my pursuits to ensure success. I must, in fact, mutate. That's where you come in."
"Dear sir," Henry stated, "You don't believe I would help you? If you are Essex, the work you did in Chicago was monstrous."
"The work I did in Chicago was child's play," Essex said coldly, "Successful enough for the needs of the time. But I digress. You see the young lady over there?" he gestured to the cell.
"She's another of Xavier's students, calls herself 'Rogue.' She has the singular talent of absorbing the minds and abilities of those whom she touches for a small amount of time. This serum," he retrieved the syringe, "is fabricated from her DNA."
Essex inserted the syringe in his arm and injected the fluid into his blood stream.
"It won't last long," he continued, entering the cell, "but I should be able to get the information I need from you in order to permanently merge genetic changes into my own DNA."
He reached out and grabbed Henry's face.
Henry McCoy screamed as his knowledge, his memories, indeed his very essence were pulled from him.
"Well, well. This is a surprise," the Host and owner of Caritas commented to Cordelia and Jean as they came through the door. "Particularly since we've already had one visit from Angel Investigations today." He brushed a lock of blond hair off one of his red horns. "I'm afraid I told them everything I had, though."
"We're here for some more…" Cordelia paused, trying to find the right word, "Personal assistance," she finished.
Jean looked around the bar. Having accepted that demons were real was one thing. Standing in a demon-populated karaoke bar was something else entirely. She took a deep breath and looked at the Host. Green skin, jutting chin, little red horns, and one hell of a wardrobe, complete with a Vegas host personality. Okay, I can do this, she told herself.
"…so we're hoping that maybe if she sang..?" Cordelia was saying.
"I could tell you were you could find our missing demon," the Host looked over at Jean with a smile, "and mutant population? Be glad to, come with me Red." He hooked his arm through Jean's and led her to the bar. He pulled out a song list and gestured to the bartender.
"Carlo, give the lady something nice on the house, she's a virgin," he looked over at a blushing Jean, "Singing wise, I mean."
"So, any ideas?" asked Cordelia as she joined the redhead at the bar.
"I have no clue," Jean sighed, "I've never done anything like this before."
"It's simple, dearest" said the host, "Just go through and find something you've always wanted to do."
Jean took the drink that appeared next to her and took a sip, Mai Tai. Perfect. She took a deep breath and started at the top of the list again.
"Lorne, I know it's a little unusual, but you mind if I lend a hand?" came a soft voice from behind them.
Jean and Cordelia turned around to see a very attractive woman of about twenty five, with a few very standout features. One was the streaks of platinum in her chestnut hair, another was the fact that she only stood about five foot tall. Then of course, there was the figure, one that caused both women to be just a bit envious of the favor the breast fairy had shown, and she dressed to suit it, with a gypsy flair. But most striking thing about this woman had nothing to do with physical appearance. It was the overly large, extremely furry, orange cat who stared at them from its position wrapped around her shoulders. The cat looked at Jean and maowed.
"Alexis, darling, I could never refuse you anything," the Host replied, "Ladies, may I introduce Alexis Vanadis. One of my absolute favorite people, gifted with a voice that must have come from the Gods, and the only woman you're ever likely to meet with a Seeing Eye cat."
"Cat?" asked Cordelia, sipping on her own drink.
Jean meanwhile had noticed that the Norwegian Forrest would look exactly where his mistress did. And that the eyes behind the purple colored glasses didn't focus exactly like they should.
"You're linked to the cat," she said, amazed.
"Not exactly, this is Pangor, by the way," Alexis replied, plucking the song list from Jean's hand. "But it's a long story that would best be told another time. By the way, ladies, whom am I working with here?" she started scanning the list, the cat moving it's head in time with her eyes.
"Cordelia Chase," said the brunette, "And this is Jean Grey, we're…"
"Looking for someone, yes," Alexis said, "So am I, or rather, one of my employees is." Her finger stopped. "Aha!" She turned the list around so the others could see her choice.
"Well ladies," she asked, "Shall we find our answers together?"
Jean and Cordelia looked at each other, and smiled.
Nathaniel Essex was not one to show emotions often, but this was almost tempting. He held the new serum up to the light, watching the prism effect in the beaker. He glanced at the Portuguese woman standing towards the end of the lab.
"Ms. Sontag, we have samples of genetic material from all the specimens except for the X'noxx," he said, "I have finished with this part of my work, thanks to the mind of Doctor McCoy. Get the last sample."
"Isn't that Creed's job?" the woman sneered.
"I have Victor doing other work at the moment, Ms. Sontag," Essex stated calmly, "Therefore I am asking you." He faced her, and she felt an involuntary shiver run down her spine, "If you insist, I could make it a demand."
"No, Doctor," she sighed, "That won't be necessary."
The woman named Phillipa Sontag, and sometimes called ArcLight, opened the door to the cell of the X'noxx demon. It was large. Huge, actually, and had a dense skin that made it for all intents and purposes invulnerable. Essex had discovered a soft section inside the ear, however, that a needle could penetrate. They had kept the air in this chamber loaded with sedatives to reduce difficulty.
However, as she prepared to insert the needle, the X'noxx opened its eyes, and with one pull, freed itself from it's bonds, throwing her across the cell in the process.
The demon wasted no time, and ran from its cell. While it's immense bulk slowed it down, its strength could flatten anything that stood in it's way. So then, Essex wondered as he prepared to flood the entire chamber with sedative gas, was it running directly towards Rogue's cell? Then he noticed that the door to that cell had not been closed since he retrieved his latest sample of her blood. He ran to the control panel to close it before the X'noxx could enter.
He was too late, the door slammed home immediately behind the demon.
No longer running, the X'noxx released the breath he'd been holding and looked at the girl tied down to the bed. There was fear in her eyes, and he regretted that this had to happen.
"Forgive me, little one," he said, a voice that rang of thunder in the mountains, "But there is no other way if any of us are to survive."
And with that he reached out and cupped Rogues face in his large hand.
Rogue screamed as the images of the X'noxx homeland entered her mind. His name was K'thon. He was an officer of the court. X'noxx was his home. A land of dense air and little land, they had evolved into beings of great strength and toughness in order to survive this realm. And they could fly! Simply by the strength of their own minds, they could hurl themselves from place to place at speeds that were unbelievable. But K'thon had dishonored his family, and his punishment was to be sent to this realm for a period of ten cycles. Here, his strength could barely keep him alive, each breath was torture, and the ability to fly was negated by the increased mass.
This was Hell to him.
Then, as the last of his life force came into her body, Rogue heard him speak to her.
"It is better this way," his mind said to hers, "I regain honor by giving my life to a cause. Use my strengths to fight this battle, young one. Do not let me die in vain."
As K'thon fell to the floor, Rogue screamed again, this time in rage. She tore the bonds that held her as though they were paper, and flung herself against the door of the cell.
Essex however, had not been simply watching as this happened. He had already started the flow of sedative into that room, and he now increased it to full strength.
Rogue's world was fading as she pounded on the Plexiglas. She didn't know why she suddenly felt so weak. And then she too fell to the floor, unconscious.
Essex walked over to the cell and studied the cracks that had appeared in the door. If he'd reacted only one second later, she very likely would have escaped. He sighed. The X'noxx was useless to him now. He needed living genetic material to work with. Fortunately, he had taken a larger supply from Rogue the last time. Her near invulnerable state would not hinder him. He would simply have to make do with the genetic material he'd taken from the other demons. Although the invulnerable skin would have been useful, it was a luxury after all. He looked down at his hand, noticing that some of the other DNA he'd grafted into his system was beginning to alter his skin tone. His already pale complexion was turning to a chalk white.
His eyes wandered over to Henry McCoy, still unconscious after the mind transfer. He smiled, and walked over to the cell. There was one more theory regarding true genetic potential he wanted to test.
"Well, ladies, I must say that is the most enthusiastic rendition of 'Venus' I've heard in a long time," said the Host, grinning wide and presenting the ladies each with a drink.
"It's easier doing this three voices thing," said Cordelia, smiling.
"It's called 'harmony,'" Alexis suggested.
"Right," Cordelia agreed, "Anyway, lets us all work without holding the whole thing."
Alexis thought about Cordelia's voice singing solo and grimaced slightly. Jean was apparently having the same thoughts. Pangor simply maowed again.
"So, Lorne," Alexis said, "Where do we each go?"
"That's the ironic part, m'dear," the Host replied, "Seems like all three of you are on the same track."
"Milbury?" asked Alexis.
"That's one name he likes to use," the Host confirmed, "And it seems that your," he pointed at Jean, "…companions, and your," his attention shifted to Cordelia, "…missing demons, are all linked up with," he turned back to Alexis, "…your renegade mad scientist. Looks like you ladies need to head south."
"South?" asked Jean.
"Let me guess," moaned Cordelia, "Sunnydale."