Chapter 3----Awakening
England.
"Mr. Travers, sir, They wish to know if the remake is finished yet, if you please." said Andrew Coplen, one of Quentin's associates, as he entered the Watcher's quarters.
"Thank you, Andrew. And yes, tell Them that she is almost ready, but They must understand that to make a true living copy of her, we need time. It is only a matter of hours, however, until we are finished." The old watcher replied while showing Andrew to the door.
"Yes sir, I will let Them know." And with that he exited Quentin's chamber, letting the door close gently behind him.
Quentin walked over to a wall that had a little groove in it just above a coffee table set there. Quickly, he tapped the coffee table twice and then slid his finger along the groove, thereby opening a passage that only he and a select few had access to. As he crept slowly down the dark, candlelit passageway, he listened intently for any sign of another presence. As he went further and further along, the passageway got wider and wider until it finally opened up to an enormous chamber that was brightly lit with chandeliers and other fancy lamps and lights. Nothing but the best for our little one, he thought. But of course, it was far from the best. It was big for an underground facility, but not nearly big enough for their slayer. She needed space, and things to fight. After all, evil wasn't going to just sit around and lie itself down. It needed to be killed, and who better to do so than the very copy of the best slayer there had ever been? Even Quentin could not argue that she had been more powerful and more clever and strong than any of those before her. He had only wished that she would have remained with the council so that she might have been of better help before her tragic death. But then, that was the life of a slayer; Live, be Chosen, fight evil until your death. There was no other way out of it. It was destiny. Fate. But this time, They wanted to change things. They knew the previous slayer could not be matched, and with the rogue slayer, Faith, being the only other slayer that was and would be called until her own death, They needed another. No other could be called unless Faith died, and since They were impassive at any costs, They did not see it fit to destroy Faith just so that a new slayer could be called. Also, at the risk of that slayer being worse even than Faith, They decided against it. So, here Quentin was, trying to finish the 'special project' by Their deadline, just so that he might be able to get his first decent night's sleep in over a month. As he walked over to the far wall, he removed a thin sheet from the bed where she lay. She's almost finished, he thought with a smile. She looks just like the real thing. But then he reminded himself that she was the real thing, only without one thing that made her Buffy. Her soul. But They believed that with a readily made soul, she would be easier to handle. Well, it's Their plan, he thought. And with that, he left the room.
Sunnydale
The two brothers had made their way to the old warehouse where they would perform the spell. They had been here only once before, when they first came to Sunnydale, but they had decided to rent a motel instead at less of a risk of being discovered. As they entered the broken down building, they couldn't see very well. It was very dark and musty, and Brother Zachary ran into at least one or two walls before they came to a large enough spot for them to perform the spell.
"So this is it then?" asked Brother Jacques calmly, but with a hint of fear to his voice.
"Yes, my Brother, this is the spot." Returned Borther Zachary. This was the only spot in Sunnydale that existed on a white plane. Simply meaning that it was a strong point for the use of good magicks. This was the only place where they could perform the spell, because though their magicks were powerful, they were not powerful enough alone to do a ritual of such great magnitude. They would have like to have gotten the slayer's little witch friend to help. Then the spell would not have such an irreversible impact on them. But they did not wish to risk anyone figuring out what they were doing. So instead they just decided to do the ritual themselves, despite the costs. So as they sat down to start chanting, Brother Zachary added, "You realize that her soul could end up anywhere, in any living shape, and that she may not be able to make it back to her friends.do you think she deserves that?"
"I believe that she will find her way back to those that she truly loves." Replied Brother Jacques, "so let us perform the spell." And so they began.
The chant was of Latin origin, but it was an extremely ancient language that was now almost dead. Few people any longer knew or spoke it. They continued to chant for several hours, until finally, Brother Jacques stopped. Brother Zachary soon stopped after him. "It is finished," proclaimed Brother Zachary, right before he collapsed in a lifeless heap. Brother Jacques didn't hear him, however, because he had drawn his last breath at the moment the last word of the chant left his lips.
England.
As Quentin reentered his quarters through the same passage by which he left, he noticed a difference in the atmosphere. Hmm, he thought, that is a bit odd. But he excused it, at least, until he noticed the figure standing in the shadows. "Who is there?" He demanded.
The figure stepped out from the shadows and he gasped as she asked "Why am I here?"
It isn't possible! Thought Quentin, I just saw her! She isn't supposed to be ready yet! "You were created by us." He replied, keeping his voice steady though his mind was racing.
"I'm fairly sure that, even though you think you can run my life, you did *not* create me. Also, how did I get here? I'm supposed to be dead." The girl added.
"Buffy, your body was created by The Powers That Be, with some additions from the watcher's council. Your soul was also created by Them, and placed into that body, though I do not know how They finished it so quickly, because They said that you would not be ready for another few hours." He finished.
"Listen to me, Quentin, I am not some cyberoid creature that you created in some lab. I am Buffy Summers. I am the Vampire Slayer, and I have the power, and right, to kick your ass if I had the mind to, but instead, I'll just leave, thank you, if you could show me the way out." She verbally harassed him until he couldn't quite see straight, but he would not give in.
"Buffy, you are staying here, whether you like it or not." He finished, and then left the room.
"Finally." Buffy said. The man gave her chills whenever he was in her presence. She loathed him more than she did vampires, and that was saying something. He was the reason, not vampires, that she had to give up a normal life to live a life of hell, so it was only natural that she wouldn't like him. The other slayers were too obedient. What are we supposed to be? She thought, the perfect little slayer pets? Well, Buffy wasn't going to be their pet, that was for sure. She didn't quite know what was going on, but she knew she had to get out of here and back to Sunnydale. Somehow I'll find a way, she thought. Somehow I'll get back to them.
England.
"Mr. Travers, sir, They wish to know if the remake is finished yet, if you please." said Andrew Coplen, one of Quentin's associates, as he entered the Watcher's quarters.
"Thank you, Andrew. And yes, tell Them that she is almost ready, but They must understand that to make a true living copy of her, we need time. It is only a matter of hours, however, until we are finished." The old watcher replied while showing Andrew to the door.
"Yes sir, I will let Them know." And with that he exited Quentin's chamber, letting the door close gently behind him.
Quentin walked over to a wall that had a little groove in it just above a coffee table set there. Quickly, he tapped the coffee table twice and then slid his finger along the groove, thereby opening a passage that only he and a select few had access to. As he crept slowly down the dark, candlelit passageway, he listened intently for any sign of another presence. As he went further and further along, the passageway got wider and wider until it finally opened up to an enormous chamber that was brightly lit with chandeliers and other fancy lamps and lights. Nothing but the best for our little one, he thought. But of course, it was far from the best. It was big for an underground facility, but not nearly big enough for their slayer. She needed space, and things to fight. After all, evil wasn't going to just sit around and lie itself down. It needed to be killed, and who better to do so than the very copy of the best slayer there had ever been? Even Quentin could not argue that she had been more powerful and more clever and strong than any of those before her. He had only wished that she would have remained with the council so that she might have been of better help before her tragic death. But then, that was the life of a slayer; Live, be Chosen, fight evil until your death. There was no other way out of it. It was destiny. Fate. But this time, They wanted to change things. They knew the previous slayer could not be matched, and with the rogue slayer, Faith, being the only other slayer that was and would be called until her own death, They needed another. No other could be called unless Faith died, and since They were impassive at any costs, They did not see it fit to destroy Faith just so that a new slayer could be called. Also, at the risk of that slayer being worse even than Faith, They decided against it. So, here Quentin was, trying to finish the 'special project' by Their deadline, just so that he might be able to get his first decent night's sleep in over a month. As he walked over to the far wall, he removed a thin sheet from the bed where she lay. She's almost finished, he thought with a smile. She looks just like the real thing. But then he reminded himself that she was the real thing, only without one thing that made her Buffy. Her soul. But They believed that with a readily made soul, she would be easier to handle. Well, it's Their plan, he thought. And with that, he left the room.
Sunnydale
The two brothers had made their way to the old warehouse where they would perform the spell. They had been here only once before, when they first came to Sunnydale, but they had decided to rent a motel instead at less of a risk of being discovered. As they entered the broken down building, they couldn't see very well. It was very dark and musty, and Brother Zachary ran into at least one or two walls before they came to a large enough spot for them to perform the spell.
"So this is it then?" asked Brother Jacques calmly, but with a hint of fear to his voice.
"Yes, my Brother, this is the spot." Returned Borther Zachary. This was the only spot in Sunnydale that existed on a white plane. Simply meaning that it was a strong point for the use of good magicks. This was the only place where they could perform the spell, because though their magicks were powerful, they were not powerful enough alone to do a ritual of such great magnitude. They would have like to have gotten the slayer's little witch friend to help. Then the spell would not have such an irreversible impact on them. But they did not wish to risk anyone figuring out what they were doing. So instead they just decided to do the ritual themselves, despite the costs. So as they sat down to start chanting, Brother Zachary added, "You realize that her soul could end up anywhere, in any living shape, and that she may not be able to make it back to her friends.do you think she deserves that?"
"I believe that she will find her way back to those that she truly loves." Replied Brother Jacques, "so let us perform the spell." And so they began.
The chant was of Latin origin, but it was an extremely ancient language that was now almost dead. Few people any longer knew or spoke it. They continued to chant for several hours, until finally, Brother Jacques stopped. Brother Zachary soon stopped after him. "It is finished," proclaimed Brother Zachary, right before he collapsed in a lifeless heap. Brother Jacques didn't hear him, however, because he had drawn his last breath at the moment the last word of the chant left his lips.
England.
As Quentin reentered his quarters through the same passage by which he left, he noticed a difference in the atmosphere. Hmm, he thought, that is a bit odd. But he excused it, at least, until he noticed the figure standing in the shadows. "Who is there?" He demanded.
The figure stepped out from the shadows and he gasped as she asked "Why am I here?"
It isn't possible! Thought Quentin, I just saw her! She isn't supposed to be ready yet! "You were created by us." He replied, keeping his voice steady though his mind was racing.
"I'm fairly sure that, even though you think you can run my life, you did *not* create me. Also, how did I get here? I'm supposed to be dead." The girl added.
"Buffy, your body was created by The Powers That Be, with some additions from the watcher's council. Your soul was also created by Them, and placed into that body, though I do not know how They finished it so quickly, because They said that you would not be ready for another few hours." He finished.
"Listen to me, Quentin, I am not some cyberoid creature that you created in some lab. I am Buffy Summers. I am the Vampire Slayer, and I have the power, and right, to kick your ass if I had the mind to, but instead, I'll just leave, thank you, if you could show me the way out." She verbally harassed him until he couldn't quite see straight, but he would not give in.
"Buffy, you are staying here, whether you like it or not." He finished, and then left the room.
"Finally." Buffy said. The man gave her chills whenever he was in her presence. She loathed him more than she did vampires, and that was saying something. He was the reason, not vampires, that she had to give up a normal life to live a life of hell, so it was only natural that she wouldn't like him. The other slayers were too obedient. What are we supposed to be? She thought, the perfect little slayer pets? Well, Buffy wasn't going to be their pet, that was for sure. She didn't quite know what was going on, but she knew she had to get out of here and back to Sunnydale. Somehow I'll find a way, she thought. Somehow I'll get back to them.
