The Lexus Luxury sedan sat beneath the shadows of the alley, its dark grey colour perfectly blending in perfectly. Two men sat stock still in the car, their stony eyes hidden by wrap-around shades. Both could have been brothers, their shaved heads glinting menacingly in the moonlight seeping through the windows. Both sported lean, wiry bodies, veins showing clearly on their thick necks. Cauliflower ears betrayed a past of wrestling.
The first reached into the pocket of the custom-tailored savile row suit, made to hide the bulge of the Sig-Sauer P229 pistol riding in a light plastic shoulder-holster. He instead palmed the small Telus phone.
The second, the one in the shotgun seat, reached to the back, his fingers closing around the big duffel bag. Zipping it open, he brought out a matching pair of Israeli Galil assault rifles. Calmly, he slid in a 50-round box into each rifle, handing one over to his partner who was now speaking in rapid, yet accented German.
Finally, the conversation with the small cellphone, and the first merely nodded silently to the second.
Nodding back, the two eased open their doors, stepping carefully onto the rough pavement. Their eyes flickered towards their target as they strolled side by side, the rifles held out before them.
They turned the corner…and entered the Magic Box.
The Honda Civic sped along the Sunnydale roads under the midnight moon. Warily, Ling glanced backwards to what he thought was a psycho-bitch Amazon woman who had a nice ass.
She seemed to be glaring at Xander, who was painfully rubbing his jaw…the spot where she had delivered the quick, vicious jab right after encasing him in a vise-like bear hug.
The silence seemed somewhat deadly in this tense standoff with the buxom blonde and the suave soldier. Before Kalman could break it, Buffy did the deed.
"So, Xand, where've you been?" Came the quiet, clipped question.
Xander frowned as he contemplated the question. "Did some boxing after I left. Got pretty good. Even had a 750-grand contract going on before…" He trailed off as he remembered the humiliating end of his short-lived boxing career.
"Xander?"
"I…uh…a scandal. They wanted me to take a fall…and they threatened me if I didn't."
"Who's 'they'?"
"The mob." Replied Xander, forcing a note of nonchalance into his voice.
The silence again hung over the car like a heavy veil, dragging everyone down.
"What about…after?"
"After? Well, that was a pretty fun time in my life," Replied Xander, a small smile lighting up his face. "I joined the Navy…heh, I served on the U.S.S Enterprise."
The corners of the petite slayer uplifted in a smile as she remembered how much he had been obsessed with Star Trek. "What'd you do?"
"Do? Oh, I was a diver…but I met some guys. SEALs. I, uh, I worked out with them a few times…it was brutal. They showed me some stuff, then they told me I'd be a good SEAL candidate. So…I joined."
"First in your class?" Asked Buffy, subconsciously grinning.
"No," Replied Xander with a snort. "Seventeenth. I…"
His sentence was cut off as the Honda lurched to a stop before the Magic Box. A loud "Shit" left Ling's mouth as the 4053 filled his fist.
"What is it?" Snapped Buffy and Xander simultaneously.
"I think I might be seeing ghosts." Muttered the Chinese soldier, bursting out the door. Xander glanced over to the entrance. A moment later, he imitated the movement, the 4003 sliding from its holster.
A duo of cold, bald-headed men toting assault rifles were headed for the Magic Box. Sensing movement behind, Xander roughly pushed Buffy back. "Stay here Buff…"
"Move." Snarled the slayer as she roughly pushed Xander back.
"Goddammit Buffy!" Growled Xander as he glanced urgently at the two men. "This isn't your game! You got speed, you got strength, but can you dodge bullets?! I don't freaking think so!"
"Xander, don't you dare try to stop me! My friends and my sister are in there, and I am not going to be stopped by someone who turned their back on me years ago!"
Hurt flashed through the soldier's eyes as he stared at Buffy. It stung…hard. Why couldn't they understand? Just staying here brought back memories of Anya…of killing her.
Sighing, Harris spun on his heels, staying low to the ground, keeping to the shadows as he joined Kalman. The Chinese soldier stood in a weaver stance, his dark cords and leather jacket blending in perfectly to the shadows he stood in. The pistol boomed, a 135-grain stinger ripping through the air. The bullet smashed into the nearest skinhead's ribs, sending him stumbling into his friend…yet he remained standing.
"Kevlar." Muttered Kalman, adjusting his aim towards the man's face.
Behind him, Xander's 4003 boomed, its bullets disintegrating the man's face. A chunk of flesh blew off from the man and the first sign of emotion overcame the rifle-wielding creature. From the remaining side of his face came a contemptuous sneer as the Galil snapped up, chattering a steady stream of bullets towards the two warriors. Both ducked under cover, the bullets striking against the stone foundation.
Frantically, praying for her safety, Xander's eyes scanned the darkness for any sign of Buffy. He found her crouched behind a heavy oak tree, bullets chewing up the bark. Her green eyes held a spark of determination…and fury.
The burst of bullets stopped, and as if on cue, both soldiers popped up, firing. The first man charged, the Galil-empty-now clattering against the pavement. The bullets of the two men seemed to have no effect on the charging creature, blood and skin flying in the air as pieces of his body was ripped away. A disfigured hand reached beneath the jacket, unlimbering the Glock 17.
Soon enough, both pistols ran dry. Not bothering to fish for a fresh clip, Xander let the pistol drop, bringing out the small .38 snubnose. Yet, before he could fire even a shot, a blur shot passed him, impacting with the approaching abomination. With superhuman speed, Buffy's shoulder smashed painfully into the creature's ribs, the crunch, followed by a grunt of agony, bringing a smile to both men's lips. The creature stumbled back, yet could not recover as a barrage of fists from Buffy snapped its head back…to fast, to powerful for its neck to handle. The vertebrae snapped, as the man stumbled back, his head twisted at an odd angle.
Remembering, Xander glanced frantically towards the second assassin…it was gone.
One thing Rupert Giles prided himself on was his immaculately-kept magic shop. Frog legs piled on one neat and tidy stack, dangerous scrolls which he hoped no one could find folded properly, tucked away into the shadows of a shelf. Daggers, their blades glinting in the artificial light, on one wall, the old sawed-off World-War 2-era pump-action shotgun beneath the counter.
It was this weapon he dove for as the armed man waltzed into the shop, bracing the weapon against his hip.
"Get down!" Yelled Giles crazily as the assault rifle began stuttering, its bullets ripping across the carefully-ordered shop.
Dropping to the ground, his glasses falling from his face from his jarring landing, his fingers found the powerful shotgun.
From his 'Ripper' days, he had gotten quite proficient with small arms, his training furthered even more as a Watcher. He had come to favour the old shotgun. Whether it was because its dozen pellets could totally obliterate a man, or for its sentimental purposes, Giles would never know.
The gun roared, a the buckshots streaming towards the mystery-attacker.
Vision blurry from the loss of his glasses, his hands quickly groped about for his glasses. Finally, he found them. Slipping them on, he gasped in horror.
The man remained standing, even though it had found its mark. The pellets of the buckshot had nearly blown off the creature's head from its shoulders, yet it still stood there, blood gushing from the loss of its head.
The Galil clicked empty, and the headless assassin dropped the gun, reaching into its coat for the 9mm P229. The gun angled towards him, and scrambling onto his feet, he dove across the counter, just avoiding the 124-grain bullet that gouged at the cool surface beneath.
Back against the floor, bracing the gun with both hands, Giles racked back the slide, sending another shell into the chamber. His jaw set, the short, stubby shotgun roared its last shot, the creature's chest nearly obliterated under the onslaught.
"Bloody hell," Muttered the former Watcher as he dropped his precious weapon. "At least I slowed it down."
A vehement "Shit" came from the training room as Spike stumbled around the corner, staying low to the ground. "The bastard nearly blew my balls off." True enough, a spot of cold blood appeared a mere two inches from his crotch.
His eyes caught sight of the headless gunman, spots of his body blown away. Eyes wide in shock, Spike dove to the ground as the bullet ripped through the air where the vampire had been only moments ago.
"Oh…ya' want a piece of the Big Bad, huh?" Muttered Spike, ignoring the fiery pain right next to his crotch.
The headless creature seemed clueless to the location of the blonde vampire.
Chuckling mirthlessly, Spike tensed, then launched himself from the ground. His fist rocketed forward almost as fast as his undead body flew through the air. It connected with a fleshy slap…or would have, if it weren't for the fiery hot pain that exploded from his head like a block of C4, lancing through his entire body.
A scream of agony escaped the vampire's lips as he stumbled backwards, long, elegant hands clutching the crown of his head.
The hollowpoint bullet smashed into his chest, sending the vampire into a further world of pain as he crashed into a shelf, sending jars of Tasmanian Devil eyeballs scattering across the cool surface of the Magic Box.
"Bloody hell." Muttered Spike as he rolled painfully off the wooden shelf, grunting as slivers of wood flew into the back of his neck. Swiftly, the former killer scrambled into cover behind the counter, bullets hot on his heels.
"Bastard!" Screamed Spike with a hearty laugh as he pulled the ever-present silver flask of vodka from his leather trench coat. The telltale click of a hammer striking thin air indicated the absence of bullets in the creature's pistol. With a contemptuous sneer on his face, the bleached vampire tilted his head back, savouring the bitter, burning sensation as the alcohol rushed down his throat.
"You learn to mess with the big bad!"
Glaring at the approaching killer, his fingers clumsily sliding a fresh clip up the butt of its pistol, Spike cocked his flask back, and sent a wave of vodka flying towards the creature. The transparent liquid enveloped the creature, and the smirk still present on his face, Spike slid the flask back into his coat, flipping a used cigarillo into his mouth as he ran the shiny, silver Zippo over its end.
"Told you, ya' shoddy cock-sucker, you do not mess with the big bad."
Fingers racked the slide back on the Sig-Sauer.
Smoke gently lifting from Spike's mouth, the cigarillo then was suddenly flicked through the air, the end still glowing softly as it crashed into the alcohol-coated creature.
The result was instant…so was the fire. The creature seemed to stiffen as scalding-hot flames enveloped its body. But still, it lumbered on, arms out-stretched in a bad impersonation of a pale, ghastly zombie.
It was then that the door to the magic box smashed open and two men charged through, their guns blazing, bullets enveloping the enflamed creature.
A bullet seemed to strike its crotch, and with that…the psychotic killer vanished. All remaining was a pile of dust.
On most occasions, the bleached vampire would have cracked at that. The crotch being the weak point of these mysterious creatures, giving the same effect as a wooden stake to the heart would be for a vampire.
But with a frown on his face, singed eyebrows and hair adding to the 'bum'-look, Spike roughly wiped the back of his hands across his eyes as he stared at the two.
One of them was totally unfamiliar, a good-looking Asian guy with ludicrously long sideburns.
But the other…
Christ, in his old age, he must be losing his sight. But if he wasn't mistaken, that man standing there, a feral snarl upon his face, the shiny pistol clutched in his grips…was Xander Harris.