It seemed like a missile, speeding towards him. The bullet of death, zeroing in on him. But the bony fist seemed so much more painful to Alexander Harris. The knuckle smashed deep into his face, skimming against his nose as it made impact just to the right. Stars rang out bright and clear in his vision as he stumbled back, fighting the spots of darkness that threatened to overtake his vision. With a quiet, vehement curse, he steadied himself against the dirty, unkempt wall of the small Hong Kong alley.

"Latent One, Latent and Active Team almost in position. Keep him busy for another few minutes." Rang the tinny voice in Xander's ear.

Through a small, blood-caked grin, the dark-haired man pushed himself from the wall. He saw the shoulder moving even before the next barrage of fists came towards him. That bony fist again flew at him, this time smashing against thin air as Harris swiftly ducked beneath, lunging forward, his own arm coming about in a vicious right-hook. Pain exploded against his chin as the elbow of his adversary sent him stumbling back once more.

"Sure thing," Muttered Xander painfully, rubbing his jaw. "I'll try to hold back from kickin' his ass."

His hazel eyes glared at the bald, skull-like face, grinning maliciously back at him.

"Screw you." Taunted Harris, back-pedaling. His fingers brushed against the grips of his custom Smith & Wesson 1003. He grinned inwardly as he imagined unlimbering the pistol, peering down the 2-dot sights, his favourite pistol bucking in his hands as he sent a double-tap of .40 S&W bullets speeding towards his enemy.

Silently cursing his inept ability to follow orders, Harris quickly shot his arm from the pistol, parrying yet another overhead right aimed to his nose.

Being quite proficient in CQB-Close Quarters Battle-Xander Harris had seemed the ideal choice to draw out the bodyguard of wealthy merchant, specializing in illegal arms. The plan was to keep the bodyguard occupied as Latent and Active Teams quietly infiltrated the merchant's rich penthouse, securing the dealer alive. The bodyguard had to remain alive…and distracted from the raid for the sole purpose that…they didn't know which was the guard and which was the merchant. Capture one successfully, the other would most likely stick a gun to his head and blow himself to hell. Xander, however, hadn't planned on being used as a human punching bag in a dirty Hong Kong alley.

Another fist rocked his head back, blood and spit flying through the air. Grunting, Xander pivoted about as yet another fist targeted his collarbone. The fist brushed harmlessly pass, and smirking, Harris straight-armed his opponent, sighing as he felt the cartilage of a nose crushing beneath the force exerted.

A yelp of pain sprang from the man's lips, escalating into a hi-pitched scream as Harris stepped forward, swinging his adidas combat-boots right between his opponent's legs.

The scream quickly morphed into a furious snarl of rage as the bald criminal lurched forward, one hand clutching the gonads, the other angling for Harris's neck.

Caught off-guard by his opponent's apparent balls of steel, Xander back-pedaled, his back thudding quietly against a wall…the end of the alley.

A snarl etched over his own face, Xander ducked, smashing his fist deep against his adversary's abdomen. A grunt ballooned from his mouth, as the skull-faced guard stumbled back, one hand clutching his stomach, the other wedged tight between his legs.

Growling, the man painfully extended from his position, a glinting Sig-Sauer P232 in his hands.

"Shit." Muttered Xander, staring at the gun. The maw of the barrel, spitting a relatively small .32 ACP round, seemed like the mouth of a howitzer to Harris. His hand made the futile dart towards the Smith & Wesson tucked to the small of his back, diving to the side in the same instant.

The small P232 fired, the bullet skimming against his armpit. It felt as if a scalding hot whip had just been slashed across his body. The echo of the pistol seemed just as loud…even louder. As Xander crashed a pile of garbage, he watched as the Hong Kong man's leg crumpled before him, a shout of agony escaping his lips. A frown furrowed the injured man's brow. It hadn't been an echo.

Wincing, his eyes swept across the alley, finally resting on the outline of a mysterious stranger. Slowly, smoke trailing from the barrel, the figure stepped out into the light.

Sighing, Xander tilted his head back, relaxing in the smelly bed. The figure remained silent. Harris looked back up. The Kimber Compact Carry .45 caliber now hung limply at his fingers. Oriental features stared back, bemused at his fellow agent, lying in a pile of garbage.

"Need help?" Came the words in flawless, unaccented English.

Snorting, Xander, leaned back again. "Only for you guys would I hold back on such an unworthy opponent."

"I'll take that as a no." And with that, the Chinese agent spun on his heels, strolling out of the alley.

"Hey!" Called out Xander, his head shooting back up as he stared at the retreating figure. "I didn't say I didn't need help. I despise lying in this pile of shit. Help me up!"

The middle-fingered salute was tossed his way as the agent vanished from sight. Grumbling profanities, Harris crawled from the garbage. "Screw you too."





Wincing at the assault of scalding hot water, Xander gingerly patted the bandage encasing the wound. It ached…badly. Every little movement caused hot needles of pain to lance through his body. A few pills of painkillers had taken care of that…temporarily. The doctor had recommended a month off at the very least, his commanding officer had recommended a month off at the very least, half his team mates had recommended a month off at the very least. What they were forgetting was that Xander Harris had clomped through this shithole of a mission. He'd lost four friends, had had seven civilian casualties attributed to him, and there was no way he would back out at this stage of the game.

Pointedly ignoring the ache at his side, Harris eased off the hot water until it was ice cold. His heartbeat beat faster, his breath became more constant, his body became more alert…just the way he liked it. Finally, he stepped from the shower, towelling his body dry. His hazel eyes drifted to the two guns lying on the sink next to the shower. The Smith & Wesson 1003 lay on its side, the stainless steel glinting in the artificial light. His face turned into a frown, his movements stopped at the sight of the other. It was a small snubnose .38 caliber…it had been Anya's.

Shivering, Harris swallowed down the lump that had formed in his throat.

'Don't think about her, man. Don't Fucking think about her.' Urged Xander silently to himself. Breathing in deep breaths, Harris weakly dumped the towel onto the ground, leaning against the clean white wall for support. Guilt suddenly flooded his system as he realized that he hadn't thought about her for a week…since this damn mission had started.

Forcing his breathing back within the normal range, Harris sat down upon the toilet, his fingers running through the long, dark hair that he had kept throughout the years. A lone tear ran down his face as he fought against the onslaught of horrible memories. Of the sight of her that beautiful face, smile sweetly…her eyes turning into a yellow tint, her chin jutting out, ridges forming along her forehead, fangs sprouting from those white teeth.

Shaking, his fingers ran themselves against the cool steel of the revolver.

'Don't…don't think. Forget…'

His train of thoughts were broken by the incessant rapping on the door.

"Xander, the cap'n wants a briefing in 15."

Surprise, Harris moved his lips, matching the appropriate words. Frowning, he suddenly realized that speaking also required vibrations in his voicebox.

"Yeah, right. I'll be done in a sec."





In the spacious conference room sat fourteen men and five women. The men and women of Shattered Dusk. Within the North America, Shattered Dusk acted as somewhat of a mercenary group, operating within the boundaries of the United States and Canadian Military. In layman's terms, they were an unknown entity of 19 soldiers and 10 support personnel, the mission parameters providing everything from the destruction of a vampire nest in South Africa to the assassination of a senator in Berlin.

Shattered Dusk comprised of the best, taken from everything from NEST to the DEA, from the Canadian JTF-2, to the LAPD. They had pilots who had gone through Hell Day on Coronado Island, Cops who had the proper rating to fly F-14's, and computer specialists who could kill with their bare-hands.

Shattered Dusk comprised of three assault teams, each with six soldiers-Active, Latent, and Shadow. At the head of it all was the man who had formed his organization…Jason Fornier, a cynical ex-Colonel who had served in Vietnam and the Gulf War as a United States Marine.

For the past week, seven gruelling days of murder and mayhem, Shattered Dusk had been on the search two nuclear weapons each fifty megatons powerful. Sources first indicated an eco-terrorist group that had raided a military base in the Arctic. The discovery of a room of death…the thirty-one members of that organization slaughtered in a room had led SD to Marcus Jennings, a neo-Nazi who had experienced it all…including World War Two as a defector. It just so happened that Mr. Jennings was also of the vampire breed.

His hazel eyes scanning the room, Harris found who he was looking for. Kalman Ling sat alone, his eyes taking in this day's newspaper. Beneath the short-cropped black hair and the sideburns running down the side of his face stood a handsome Asian face, the piercing blue eyes the only evidence of an Irishman somewhere along his bloodline. The Kimber Compact Carry sat snug against his waist as he uncomfortably scratched his rear-end.

Stonily, Harris made his way towards his friend. His eyes caught the 'Globe and Mail', Canada's newspaper. Ling had been born and bred in Canada, two years in the air force and three years in the Royal Canadian Mounted Police had given the soldier the ample experience for Shattered Dusk.

"They get info from that bald bastard already?" Asked Harris, slipping into the chair next to Ling's.

"Apparently so." Answered Kalman's deep voice, his eyes never leaving the newspaper.

"Know anything about it?"

"Nope."

The idle chit-chat slowed to nothingness as Fornier stood from his seat, clearing his voice loudly.

"All right," Rang out Fornier's baritone voice, booming throughout the room. "First off, a tip-top job on tonight's grab. With the exception of Harris's damaged face, we had no casualties."

Laughter rang from the eighteen soldiers as Harris swung to his feet, allowing a small bow.

"Second…" Continued Fornier, politely forcing the laughter to die down. "Second, we managed to extract information from our captives. It seems that we have three targets. The biggest is in Puerto Rico, where Jennings is supposedly holing up. Shadow Team and myself will be setting up a temporary base of operations there. The second is in the Swiss Alps, where we have a possible storage sight for our two nukes. Active Team and Gaulle, Morris, Dimono, and Rykov from Latent will be going there…" Hesitating, Fornier's gaze then swept carefully towards Harris. "The third is in Sunnydale, California, where Jennings seems to be building up an army. Harris, I believe that you've had past…experiences with the town?"

Eyes open in shock, Harris merely nodded.

"Alright, Ling will be your back-up."

The briefing rambled on, Xander only half listening.

'Sunnydale…oh god. Sunnydale. Buffy, Dawn, Willow…everyone. Every-fucking-one.'

"Hit…Jennings…bastard…"

'…Anya.'

Moisture began welling up in Xander Harris's eyes as he angled his face downwards. He was going back. To the place of nightmares and bad memories. He was going back to Sunnydale.