Murder, it flows within each of us. It is the primordial force that drives
our survival, it is the only true measure of worth within a world full of
laws and taboos. The capacity for killing is what truly defines power; for
when all of the illusions and false pretences are boiled down, the truth is
that only the strongest, the most skilled, the smartest and the luckiest
will survive.
Exodus from Sanity 2:1:8
Book 1: The Rebirth Chapter 1: Origins Part 1: Visions of the Future
Administrator Dubois sat calmly in his office awaiting the arrival of his assistant. Seated behind a large and impressive desk of finest ebony, the man contemplated his office. Having newly arrived within this facility, the office was decorated in a manner which could be called spartan. Apart from the desk and it's accompanying comfortable chair, there were three stools, a filing cabinet and conservative grey carpets.
Emanuel Dubois was hardly what could be called an impressive figure, his round face, bland features and pronounced nose did nothing to make him any more imposing. He sported dark hair that was slightly tinged with grey at the temples and upon his face sat a pair of reading spectacles that slightly obscured his brown eyes when viewed from an angle. Born into an average mid-western family, sent to a good school he had joined the military as soon as he finished MIT. His intelligence, perseverance and love for his country had found him the greatest employment he could have hoped for.
The cold war was over, but Uncle Sam was always doing its utmost to find new and radical methods to gain the upper hand over the other countries which threatened the American People. Emanuel Dubois had recently been placed in charge of the Special Projects division of Epsilon-5, a small, top-secret group which worked under the CIA. His task was to conduct experimentation into ways to increase the efficiency of the US Military.
His current focus was on one particular project, codenamed "Project Rebirth" The largest and potentially most expensive endevour that his section had ever attempted in it's thirty year history. It involved the use of Mutants, whose arrival had not yet been made public knowledge, but it was becoming more common in the world today. Mutants were Humans born with an extra something in their' genome, known as the X factor, a very unstable but immensely powerful section of the Human genome which had only recently begun to manifest itself. The X factor produced a wide variety of mutations within the host. Ranging from small, inconsequential changes such as an unusual eye colour, to extra ordinary physical and mental changes that allowed telepathy, telekinesis, enhanced senses and hundreds of other possibilities.
Also primary to project Rebirth was the advances made within the field of neuro-metallurgy. Possibly the most obscure field of science in existence, until recently, it had been considered a fantasy. The advent to a truly psycho-reactive metal was what made Rebirth possible. The metal Adamantium, used for the last fifty years in absolute secrecy and was reputedly unbreakable, was bound to certain biological elements. Through several extremely complicated occult procedures involving powerful magics, a substance was produced that could be considered a type of life on its own. The material, named Adamantanium for its close molecular resemblance to it's parent alloy, was the strangest, most alien of life-forms that had ever been encountered. The Adamantanium formed itself into tiny 'cells', so small that they were dwarfed by a human cell, and had the most rudimentary intelligence. The cells gathered together in droplets containing thousands and thousands of cells. Each droplet had the ability to bond with other droplets and to change it's shape as a whole. The droplets could become as solid as Adamantium or as liquid as Mercury regardless of the temperatures they were subjected to. Most importantly, the cells did reproduce, albeit slowly, given the correct minerals. Unfortunately, their' "Intelligence" was limited by the number of cells, and it took almost a full litre of cells to form the basis for any real degree of instinctive control. A litre, containing an estimated 2.3 billion individual cells, just to form a single cohesive action. This seemed to be a dead end from which there was no return. The cells, miraculous though they were, were just too stupid to be of any use.
Then a breakthrough was made, it was discovered that while droplets themselves couldn't actually affect any real changes in their' structure, they could be controlled by certain EM waves; waves of a very specific type, human brainwaves. Or at least, certain types of brainwaves, the droplet's needed to be in close proximity to the brainwaves and their' ability to obey a command was entirely dependant on their' own gestalt intelligence, i.e. how many of them there were. So while a droplet itself was limited in the extreme in what it could be manipulated into doing, a thousand droplets could 'understand' a more complex command.
The object of Rebirth had originally been to build a weapon out of Adamantanium that could change on command, however this was not possible because of several insurmountable problems and so the project had been shut down until the arrival of the new administrator, Mr. Dubois. Looking at the project files of his predecessor, inspiration struck him: Injecting the Adamantanium directly into the bloodstream of an agent. Once he suggested this plan to the lead researchers, they told him that the Adamantanium would permeate the agent's blood at a cellular level, that no Human could possibly survive that kind of procedure as it would involve massively invasive surgery.
Enter the Mutants. With the variety of mutations possible, Dubois reasoned, surely one could be found with the ability to heal fast enough to survive. So the archives were searched and only one Mutant fitted all of the criteria. Another group under the jurisdiction of the CIA had submitted the mutant's identity: The Initiative.
The initiative was based in a small town of Sunnydale and existed for the purpose of capturing, taming and utilizing Demons and other supernatural creatures. The location had been chosen because the town of Sunnydale was situated on a Hellmouth, a nexus for supernatural activity. Inside the base (located, for some strange reason, underneath a frat house on a university campus) were sensors designed to detect Humans, Demons and Mutants. Apparently, a group of civilians lead by the Slayer had broken into the Initiative and caused a ruckus over a captured werewolf. During this escapade, the internal sensors had registered one Slayer, one witch, one human and an unknown Mutant.
Dubois was jolted from his thoughts by the arrival of Edward Mason, his assistant. The man was quick, loyal, had an exceptional memory and was, most importantly, not very bright. This was always a good attribute for an assistant to have. The handed a report to Emanuel and waited for his instructions. Dubois took his eyes off of the man and quickly scanned the one-page report. It read:
WARNING: CLASSIFIED INFORMATION
SECURITY LEVEL: TOP SECRET
TO: E. DUBOIS, BASE ADMINISTRATOR FR: J. YUEH, SENIOR COMPUTER ANALYST SUBJ: INITIATIVE ARCHIVES 22 BETA/RED
Video recordings of the collapse of the Initiative after the release of subject 318 showed a battle. Six months of painstaking digital enhancement of all recordings of the battle showed a startling occurrence. The mutant was slashed lightly across the arm by a scalpal. The cut was so perfect that the Mutant had not even felt it. A good half inch deep and three inches long, the wound healed within 28 frames of recording. That was just over one second. Projections of his cellular regrowth rate showed that this Mutant possessed the required level of healing to have a 50:50 chance of surviving the procedure.
Recommended course of action: Immediate appropriation of subject,.
Subject Name: Harris, Alexander Lavelle
END OF LINE
Dubois placed the report onto his desk. Reached for his phone and picked it up, the faintest of smiles graced his lips. He spoke without dialing.
"Agent Smith, get your team together, project Rebirth is hot."
Book 1: The Rebirth Chapter 1: Origins
Part 2: Stolen Away
Agent Smith looked every bit the secret government agent he was. He wore a black suit with a black tie and a white shirt. He was clean-shaven with his short dark hair slicked back and a pair of small sunglasses covering his upward-turned eyes. The Californian sun shone down on him as he entered the unmarked black van containing his team. A twenty minute drive there, a quarter hour to retrieve the target then a long three hour drive to the airport were on the agenda for today. Smith Picked up the file that lay on his seat in the back of the vehicle, glanced at the driver and took his seat as the van pulled away.
The file was the standard biographical information on Alexander Harris; it contained the usual basic data, name, place and date of birth, employment history and current residence. Following that, there was a summary of the eight-page report on young Mr Harris' life. It went into great deal of detail about his work with the slayer and included an excerpt from one of Agent Finn's early reports:
".Harris, who is a friend of the slayer, has no skills or special knowledge about the occult or about any other subject, barring the fastest way to eat pizza with only one hand. How he came to be in their' group is a mystery, and why they allow him to remain with them continues to baffle me. In a combat situation, Harris' best known tactic is to charge the HST and pray for a miracle, should he ever be encountered as a hostile, his threat priority would be low. He is the lifelong friend of one Willow Rosenberg, a witch who."
Smith was an intelligent man; he knew full well that these soldier-boy types had a way of exaggerating everything, so he decided to err on the side of caution with this retrieval. Given his inside knowledge of what was intended for the poor sucker, he was sure that he didn't want to have to try and take him from his friends. They would very likely be over- protective of the boy who had no powers save for a suicidal streak a mile wide. Accordingly, he directed the driver to take them to the boy's home where they could take him without interference from the slayer or her friends. Agent Finn had been instructed to keep the Slayer away from the area during the day, but one can never be to sure.
Leaning back, Smith looked around the van to see the other three members of the team, all dressed the same. Then he looked down at the surface on which there were four of the new M-18 tazers. He loved these toys, they looked and handled like a regular pistol, but each shot out a 15ft wire with two darts on them, delivering a shock to the victim. Now, most people think that a shock is what happens when you accidentally touched a bad light switch. True, 240v was enough to make a person curse, but it didn't even come close to the 50,000v that these babies kicked out per discharge. The Initiative had tazers that didn't rely on these wires and darts, but they were big, bulky and unsuitable for stunning humans as they used far more electricity than was safe, though given the nature of this boy's mutation, Smith would have placed money that the boy would survive worse. Nevertheless, he wasn't about to go taking unnecessary chances that the administrator's prize might be damaged before the project began. He was aware of how rare the exact combination of mutation, physical and psychological factors to produce a subject with a 50:50 chance of surviving this incredibly invasive procedure. 50:50, Smith still balked at that, in his experience there had only been one other mutant with a healing factor of that magnitude.
Smith looked down at his left hand, which was missing the pinkie and ring fingers; he had lost them to a savage animal in an earlier posting as a guard. An animal they had created in a laboratory, with the resilience of an enraged rhino, and the ferocity of its namesake. A wolverine.
The van stopped, jolting Smith out his reverie, he grabbed his taser and slipped it beneath his suit. It may prove unnecessary to stun Mr. Harris and risk being seen dragging him into the van. A small neighborhood like this always had its nosy residents, no need to take the chance if the young man could be talked into accompanying them. He walked up to the door and knocked twice, his two associates remained behind him as he slipped into his 'official' persona.
The door opened to reveal an old, overweight man dressed in jeans and a string vest. The man gazed for a moment at the sky, as if startled by the presence of the morning, before fixing his eyes on the man in front of him.
"Yea, what d'ya want?" His voice had an accusatory tone to it; he blamed the man for getting him up at this time in the morning.
"Good morning, I am looking for one Alexander Harris?" Smith's tones were smooth as he projected a clear image of confidence and authority.
"He's not here." The man, Smith assumed to be Alexander's father, began to close the door.
"Might I ask where I might find him, it is rather important." Smith spoke quickly, not wanting to have to have the door closed in his face.
"Fucked if I know. Haven't seen the little shit in a while, try his friend's house next door." With that the conversation was halted and the door firmly (at least as firmly as a door this cheap could be) closed, leaving the agents alone.
Unperturbed, Smith lead them over to Ms. Rosenberg's house and inquired as to the location of Alexander. The woman who answered the door was far more civil and directed them to look at the residence of Buffy Summers. She gave them the address, and even invited them in for coffee. Politely declining the offer, Smith bid her goodbye and the group returned to the van.
This could be a problem, thought Smith. If the subject was at the house where the ex-watcher lived, then it was likely that the entire group would be there. They would have to go to Plan B. Plan B was essentially the same as Plan A, but involved allot more violence, and a great deal more risk of exposure. However, Smith had learned to always complete his tasks, or he paid for them dearly. His eyes unconsciously focused on his missing appendages.
Melancholy aside, he proceeded to the house and knocked. This time, backed up with only one agent, the other had traversed the garden and waited at the back door. A few seconds elapsed before anyone answered. Luck was with him, it was the subject. Smith acted quickly, he retrieved his taser and held it behind his back.
"May I help you?" Xander was bleary-eyed and he was the early riser of the group. Having just defeated Adam and then experiencing some of the strangest dreams of his life. He had stayed with the group at Buffy's for an extra day.
"Yes, I am agent Smith from the Federal Bureau of Investigation." Smith flipped out his badge, an expensive fake, but a very good one. Xander's eyes widened slightly at the sight of the emblem and he shook off and last vestiges of sleep.
"Who is it that you are looking for?" His voice betrayed his uneasiness.
"One Buffy Summers, are you her boyfriend?" Smith feigned curiosity.
"N, no I'm not, let me get her for you." Xander turned his back to call for Buffy, but his throat constricted and froze as he was struck in the back by the stun gun. 50,000 volts later, he was on the floor.
"Pick him up and lets go, now!" Smith hissed to the man on his left. Reaching into his jacket he spoke into his radio.
"Agent Kawalski, return to the van, objective completed." Smith switched off his radio and closed the door quietly as his man carried the very much unconscious young man to the van.
Smith turned and began to walk back toward the vehicle, his pace was quick and his thoughts kept returning to the very dangerous group within the building behind him, and just how pissed they would be very soon. He pitied any vampires that might be stupid (Though in his opinion, all vampires were stupid, it was just a matter of degree) enough to be in town when the Slayer decides to go looking for her friend. Agent Parker shifted the dead weight over his broad shoulders and was surprised to find himself toppling backwards as Mr. Harris rolled away from his grip.
Xander awoke groggy and was surprised to find himself flying sideways with a regular jarring of footsteps. Two seconds later, he had realised where he was and took the only possible step. He fought back.
~I didn't spend years fighting the forces of darkness with the Slayer only to be kidnapped by some assholes in expensive suits.~ He raged.
Xander rolled away from the grip and fell heavily to the floor. His muscles felt like they had been shredded with cheese wire, but he knew he would survive it. He had yet to find anything that could do worse than hurt him, though he did not enjoy that in any way.
All his rage and anger boiled within him as he leapt under the mans legs and grabbed him by the balls. He squeezed hard and stood up, dumping the man onto the ground, when he cracked his head on the asphalt, curled up into a ball and whimpered, clutching his nether regions. Years of manual labour had given Xander a grip to be proud of.
~Fighting fair, fuck that!~ he reasoned during one of his clearer moments of thought.
He looked up and saw the suit that had spoken to him earlier. The man who had shot him in the back with a stun-gun of some kind. The very same stun- gun, in fact, that was now pointed in his direction.
~Shit!~ He thought loudly as Smith's finger closed around the trigger.
"Shit!" He said loudly as the prongs embedded themselves into his chest and searing pain stabbed through him. Xander came crashing to the ground, and the last coherent thought in his mind as he blacked out was, perhaps unsurprisingly.
~Shit!~
Smith hit the boy again and again, conscious of his healing mutation, then, upon hearing a commotion inside the house, he picked up the boy himself and ran to the van. Kawalski came running around the building and seeing the downed agent, picked him up and carried his unconscious form to the van. Once inside, Smith banged on the backseat and yelled.
"DRIVE, GO NOW!"
The van jerked like a stung animal and practically flew down the road as the Slayer came running out of the house to investigate.
All she found was some blood on the floor, a van speeding away and a disturbing lack of Xander.
Book 1: The Rebirth Chapter 1: Origins
Part 3: Rude Awakenings
Of all the aspects of his life as a Slayerette, this was the worst. Xander groaned and with pain and tried to sit up, his eyes blurred and unfocused. Having this cool healing thing was useful, but it wasn't like it stopped him from feeling pain. While electric shocks wore off, he could still get drunk and thus he assumed that he could still be sedated.
Xander noticed something was amiss when his head (that was demanding attention from his hands to ease the throbbing) and his hands failed to meet. A quarter of a second later, he noticed something else was amiss, he couldn't move his hands more than a foot from where he had woken. His vision was making a comeback now and the first thing he saw as he opened his eyes was a blinding bright light. Quickly shutting them again, he concentrated on remembering what had happened.
He remembered opening the door, getting zapped, giving a man a vasectomy with his fingers and then getting zapped several more times. His trip down memory lane was interrupted when he heard footsteps in the otherwise quiet room. He lay back on the soft yet uncomfortable surface that could only be a hospital bed, and tried to feign sleep, hoping to overhear some clue as to where he was and what the hell was going on.
The footsteps drew nearer, and eventually Xander was able to make out a conversation.
".don't care! You should have been more discreet. Damn it Smith, you know how dangerous the Slayer and her little friends can be! You've read the reports as well as I have!" The voice was male, a slightly high pitched whining sort of voice that could only come from someone who desperately needed the living shit kicked out of them.
"Sir, I understand your concern over this. But you must understand, the projections for the boy's healing capabilities were inaccurate, one shock at half-power is enough to drop an angry bull. He shook it off in a minute. I had Kawalski stun him at regular intervals at full power for the trip to the plane, where he was properly drugged and bound. The van was, as always, unmarked and untraceable to the slayer, her hacker friend or even the regular army. " This voice was deeper, calmer and infinitely more unpleasant to Xander's ears.
The other man seemed to calm down at this. A long pause followed the statement, and Xander could almost hear the man rubbing his chin in thought.
"Well, what's done is done. And this means that the subject may have a better than 50% chance of survival after all. The Slayer is unlikely to find out where we are as I have instructed Agent Finn to lead her in the wrong direction in their' search."
"Then should I inform the good doctor that he should begin the procedure?" The voice belonging to 'Smith' had an anticipatory edge to it.
"Certainly, the sooner we begin, the sooner we can justify our expenditure to the head of the project. I have to go now and tend to other matters, I will see you later." The two footfalls separated and they could be heard heading in opposite directions.
Xander lay with his eyes closed, trying to get his protesting brain to process this new data. He was in some secret hospital, hidden from his friends and the only people who cared about him, and now he was to be the subject of some expensive 'procedure' which had something to do with his Heal-a-Wound-5000. Oh, and to top it all off, that army dickhead Riley was working for them and most importantly against him.
He was in deep shit.
After careful consideration, Xander decided to allocate the next minute or so to absolute panic.
This accomplished, he set about attempting his escape with a much clearer head. He looked around the small, white room that he had awoken in. He was lying on a hospital bed, he was strapped down at his wrists and ankles, and he was dressed only in a pair of Mickey Mouse boxers.
~Fan-fucking-tastic~
He examined the straps on his wrists, they were the normal type used to secure patients who are having convulsions or some such violent outburst. They were thick, padded, and utterly inescapable without help. He pulled and tugged with all his non-existent preternatural strength and found that it had absolutely no effect whatsoever.
He fell back onto the bed with a sigh, a thin sheen of perspiration covered his face as he concentrated on relaxing his breathing. Brute force was getting him no-where and he didn't know magic or escapology, time to re- evaluate the situation.
He was in very deep shit indeed.
He would be out of here soon, after all, his friends were probably on their' way here right now.
~I must be really desperate, to be that delusional~
Xander knew that he had been drifting from the group in the last year, ever since before graduation they had been steadily trying to keep him away from the danger of the Hellmouth. While all the while, they had been trying to take away his choice, it was his choice to fight, not theirs'. So he had been patrolling alone for a few months now, he was getting pretty good at it too. He could handle one, maybe even two vampires on a really good night. He was always careful to keep out of Buffy's way though, he knew what they would say.
Buffy would be all 'I'm the Slayer, I have the calling, I have the strength, I decide who patrols and I say it's not you.' Christ, she could be a self-absorbed brat sometimes. He briefly wondered if all Slayers were so ego-centric, remembered Kendra, and decided that the Watchers must train that out of them early.
Willow would of course just back up the Slayer, maybe add her two-cents about how they 'Just want to protect him.'
Giles would do as his Slayer decided, and then he would logic it all out and make themselves feel better about it, saying 'That it was for his own good and he'd be better off in the long run'
Anya, well, Anya would support them. He liked her and, she was really sweet, and she was extremely hot, but she would still support them on the grounds that she didn't want him to get hurt. She was 1100 years old, but still too young and new to being Mortal to understand that there were two kinds of Mortal in the world. Those that won't risk their' lives for something they believe in, and those that would.
Xander sat firmly in the second camp, but no one understood that.
During the bonding spell, he had had to work hard to keep his feelings buried in the moment, to not allow the worthlessness and the depression to seep through to his friends. Had they not been focussed on Buffy (What a surprise), they most likely would have seen through his façade, but that was always the way. They could see through his masks and his deceptions so easily, truly see him, but they never applied the necessary effort to do so. He was to clown, the comic-relief, the funny but not too bright joker. That is all he was to them, that was all they would ever see.
He cared about Anya, and he loved the Scooby's like family, but he was seriously thinking of leaving and going away. Nowhere in particular, just away from the strain of having to hide behind false masks. He never did, he never could pluck up the courage to leave her. He still loved Buffy, he had tried to tell himself it was just a crush, an infatuation, that he should move on. But it was pointless trying to hide behind a mask from himself, he really and truly loved her, even when he was disgusted by her, even when he almost hated her, he loved her. He always had, and had resigned himself to the fact that he always would, but she had never seen, as always, she never saw beyond the façade, the masks.
~Enough of this Pity Party Shit, I have to get out of here~ He thought angrily to himself, talk about the wrong place at the wrong time.
Xander heard the sound of footsteps coming down the hall and closed his eyes, hoping to feign sleep and then use the opportunity to escape.
Through a crack in his eyelids, Xander saw the blurry, indistinct images of two people-shaded blurs moving toward him in step. One was black and the other white; given that he was in a hospital-esque kind of place, Xander reasoned that the white blur could be a guy in a lab coat; this led him to believe that the black was a suit, probably Smith. His eyes closed completely and he concentrated on keeping his breathing slow and deep, as a drugged man's should be.
"Adminastrator Dubois suggests that you begin immediately." That was definitely Smith, Xander had registered his voice and filed it away in his 'Asses to be kicked' box.
"As I have told him on previous occasions, we cannot do anything until the drugs are flushed from his system. Given the dosage you pumped into him on the way here, I'd say that'll still be a good six hours yet." A woman's voice, with a well-modulated British accent, came from the doctor.
"I wasn't going to take chances with a Mutie like this! I learn from my mistakes." Smith's voice was defensive and confrontationary. He took this particular remark personally, the term 'Mutie' was unknown to Xander, but did not escape his notice.
"Calm down Smith, I wasn't criticising your actions, just pointing out consequences"
"I'm sorry Jenny, It's been a long day." Smith said with an apologetic sigh.
"Go back to your quarters, get some sleep, I promise you won't miss anything important." Doctor 'Jenny' persuaded the irate Agent
"You're right, I'll see you in a few hours. Just, keep a close eye on this one, there's something different about him, something dangerous, I don't won't you to be in the way if something goes wrong. Be careful, okay?" Smith's tone suggested to Xander that the two had some sort of relationship beyond their' work.
"I promise, now go on!" The Doctor's voice held a smile, and Xander could easily imagine her giving Smith a 'Shoo' gesture.
Smith's footsteps traveled away from him and Xander heard a door close before he lost the sounds.
~This is good, only one enemy~
The thought shocked Xander, he was thinking of this Doctor as just another enemy, something to be killed. He knew this kind of thinking had to do with his Halloween experience and as useful as it sometimes was, it disturbed his moral compass.
Book 1: The Rebirth Chapter 1: Origins
Part 4: Instinctive behavior
Dr. Jenny checked a pad at the foot of his bed, checked his vital signs on the monitor, noticing a lack of heartrate readings she frowned, then looked down and saw that the wrist monitor had come loose under the restraints. She unhooked the restraint around his right wrist and reattached the monitor, a steady beeping filled the room as the Doctor continued to work in silence. Xander stirred slightly, deliberately feigning pain to keep her from tying him down again. It worked, she took out a small flashlight and leaned over him.
~This is it, it's gotta be now~ He thought, then added
~I've only got one arm, she could call for guards if I play this nice, I am going to have to really hurt her. Can I do that? To save my own life? Could I. Kill her?~
There wasn't time to come to a decision, she was pulling open his eyelid, he heard the click of a pen-light and in silent panic reached for the nearest implement and struck with all his might at the back of her vunerable head, hoping to knock her out.
His hand flew toward her cranium, grasping a small piece of metal, something thin but sturdy. He didn't have time to care what it was, a pen, cable, a fucking tampon it was all he had. He was terrified, the thought of being experimented on, dissected was more than he could bear. Anger and fear rolled into rage and he put all his might into the swing.
Shit! He had missed her back, the strike caught the doctor in the back of the neck. It wasn't hard enough to break it, he knew, but enough to give her reason to scream.
He closed his eyes, somehow he expected her to call 'Guards, Guards' in a theatrical manner. A long pause later, he opened his eyes to see her bright blue eyes wide in shock. She was opening and closing her mouth, but no sound was emitted other than a gurgling, choking noise.
Confused, Xander's gaze traveled down mast her shapely nose, over her pretty mouth and past her slightly rounded chin to her neck.
For a moment, what he saw confused him, something metal and sharp had erupted from just above her Adam's apple. Her throat was a sea of red, he felt a warm, pleasant tickling sensation at his own neck. He looked down to see her blood flowing freely from the wound and pooling over his neck. He felt the wetness reach his chest as the blood seeped through her lab coat.
She was not struggling, not thrashing about as Xander was sure she should be with his arm around her neck and her lips in kissing distance. He looked up and kept staring into those oh-so-blue eyes and for a moment, through the surprise, he saw a glint of accusation, in her otherwise pained eyes.
But just as quickly as it came, he saw her begin to accept he incident, flashing through the psychological states in an instant, the shock, the pain, the anger, the sadness, the loss and finally the acceptance. Before seeing the light fade from her eyes. Her life ebbing away so quickly he was almost sure that it had never been there before. She was dead, gone, her beauty lost to the world forever and he had killed her.
A scalpel! that had been what he had picked up, not a pen but a surgeons tool of healing. He felt numb, he couldn't move, even as her corpse slumped onto the floor and the warmth from her body and blood began to give way to the cold air.
~I killed her, I killed her, Oh God I killed her. I killed her I killed her.~
The cycle span over and over in his mind, faster and faster it spun until there was only a cacophony of voice that seemed to say
~ KillKillKillKillKillKillKillKillKillKillKillKillKillKillKill~ he wasn't sure if it was an accusation, a statement of fact or a damnation from God himself, all he was a word, just a word.
Something cut through the whirlwind of sound like a knife.
~STOP! SHE'S DEAD AND YOU WILL BE TOO UNLESS YOU DO SOMETHING NOW~
He blinked and suddenly he was back in the room, the flurry of thoughts and emotions was gone, replaced by a cool, calming center. A balance within his mind, the state where he was a god in of himself, he was in control and there was nothing that he could not do. All to soon, though, this wonderful numbness passed and he was thrown back into the maelstrom. Shutting his mind away from anything other than the moment, he quickly separated the straps on his arm and legs and leapt to his feet. The door was locked, there was no keyhole, but a card reader.
He turned around slowly, resigning himself to the necessity of the truth, he walked over to the still form on the floor and turned her over onto her back.
Xander's eyes traveled again over her body, this time there was no emotion within him, no pity, no guilt, nothing. He reached down to her blood-soaked coat and unclipped her slightly stained ID card. Pausing for a moment, he quickly checked her pockets for anything useful but all he found was a pen and a wallet containing some cash and a photograph of a man with a dark suit and a familiar face. He left the pen and kept the wallet.
Looking down at his barely-dressed form, Xander decided that he would have to find some other clothing, being as the Doctors were covered with blood. His mind began to sort out priorities and he recognised this to be a Soldier's instinctive reaction to the feeling of being in enemy territory.
The absurdity of the situation hit him. Here he was, an unclothed, slightly drugged teenager in a god-knows-where Government lab surrounded by people who would either kill him, shoot him or possibly both and he thought he had a chance in hell of escaping.
Firstly, find some clothing, blend in as much as possible. Second, find out where he was and secure transport. Third, do whatever it takes to make sure this doesn't happen again.
It occurred to Xander at this point that no matter what he did from this point on, he was still a killer. Would it drive him to madness, like Faith? Or maybe turn him into a brooding moron like Angel. Whatever happened, Xander knew that the others would never accept him back, not after this, they would never understand that he had had no choice, it would be the black and the white of a Slayer's world that would undo him. He was a murderer, a sociopath, an evil thing to be destroyed. Perhaps it would be better for him to stay here and await his fate.
But he was not one to simply wait for slaughter like lamb. He was a killer, he was powerful enough to take that woman's life, he could get out of here. He WOULD do whatever was necessary to get out here even if it meant had to kill every man, woman and child between him and his objective. This line of thought was both terrifying and comfortable to Xander, he came into this situation a child, but now he was a killer, his innocence destroyed, there was no way he was going to stay for whatever Frankenstein experiments these people were planning.
Xander left the room quickly and quietly, and after checking the corridor directly outside the room, he allowed himself to become truly cold. He was damned now, he had nothing left to loose. Nothing but his life.
He was leaving, and god help anyone who got in his way.
Book 1: The Rebirth Chapter 1: Origins
Part 5: Exodus Interrupted
Quickly glancing down the corridors, he picked one at random and began a light jog along the silent halls. The sound of his bare feet slapping the polished floor was the only thing that broke the silence. Behind his eyes, Xander's mind was working a mile a minute, cataloguing everything he saw. A soldiers reaction that made Xander think of a line he had read in a book somewhere.
"When a crisis situation develops, the Human mind reacts in a certain way. Think of it as a spectrum, with Unconsciousness at one end and Hyperconsciousness at the other. The mid-point of this spectrum is the normal human mind-body state. Which end of the spectrum the mind tends to in a crisis depends heavily upon training."
Well, he was most certainly in Hyper-state now, he was hardly breathing hard although his heart was pounding.
Xander was about to reach an intersection, his mind registered someone approaching from the blind corner, one set of footsteps a tuneless whistle, the squeak of a push-trolley, the movement of shadow along the white walls all led him to a conclusion. A janitor, perfect.
Xander began to sprint, running hard and fast, he had timed it so that he would reach the man as he turned the corner. Xander prayed no one was to close at this moment as he ploughed into the very surprised Hispanic man in blue-coveralls. A surprised squeal escaped him as Xander grabbed the man around the throat and they both fell into the wall.
The man hit his head on the corner with a sickening crack, Xander didn't slow or stop, he pulled him away from the floor and slammed him into it again and again, each time more violently and viscously than the last. At last, Xander released the limp form to the ground, grabbing quickly at the coveralls, he stood back and donned them. A pool of scarlet was slowly expanding from the back of the now-deceased Janitor. Once again, looking down at his latest prey, Xander felt totally balanced within himself, confident and powerful. This time the feeling was more intense, this time it had not been accidental, he had not just killed the guy, Xander Harris had murdered him, deliberately taken his life so that his could continue. And it felt right, he had survived, he was the stronger of the two and he had lived. The man at his bare feet was dead because he was weaker than him, simple as that.
Xander decided not to waste time trying to clean up after himself, there was a great deal of mess and it would take to long, so he stole the mans shoes and finding them to be about his size, he slipped them on. He stood up and without a backward glance continued down the corridor at a steady jog.
Lady luck was a fickle mistress, he had managed to find an exit without meeting any other personnel, unfortunately, one or both of the bodies had evidently been discovered. Every alarm on the base had been tripped, men, soldiers from the look of it were scrambling over the tarmac of some kind of runway outside of the complex, there was also a long road moving off into the distance.
Xander decided it was time for a sharp exit, and since he couldn't fly a plane, the only exit would be one of those jeeps. As quickly and stealthily as a partially bright blue-clad teenager could, Xander made his way toward the closest vehicle. Keeping low against the side, Xander leapt into the driver's seat of the unoccupied vehicle and started the engine.
Xander was not a particularly good driver, having only had his uncles 'car' to practice in, but situations like these can do wonders for your concentration. The jeep leapt and began to accelerate down the road.
Unsurprisingly, a camouflage-green jeep tearing away with a man in blue coveralls at the wheel was not the sort of thing that went unnoticed by the hundred-odd soldiers who were at present performing passable impressions of headless chickens.
Three seconds after Xander had hit the accelerator a cry of alarm alerted a single soldier.
Six seconds later, the highly-trained man had dropped to his knee and was taking aim at the speeding vehicle.
Less than one-quarter of a second later, the Colt CAR-15 assault rifle bucked as the trigger was depressed and the weapon fired on full-auto.
Within a second sixteen 5.56mm bullets had left the barrel travelling at super-sonic speeds, the first passed through the window six inches to the left of Xander's head. The next three penetrated his body, destroying his left elbow, shattering the shoulder and puncturing the left ventricle of his beating heart. The next eleven shots ricocheted across the metal frame of the jeep. The final bullet missed the target completely and imbedded itself in a boulder two-hundred metres away.
Less than five seconds later, Xander Harris lost control of the speeding vehicle and slumped across the wheel, the jeep turned sharply and rolled over onto it's left hand side. The jeep came to a skidding stop, 50 yard away from it's staring point with the wheels spinning as the driver bled profusely. Thirteen soldier immediately began to converge on the overturned vehicle.
Xander had fallen into a state of near-unconsciousness, as was usual when he was mortally wounded, his healing-factor kicked into what he less-than- affectionately dubbed 'overdrive'. His heart pounded and his lungs labored to provide his body with the energy he needed to heal himself, while he was left utterly helpless and totally vulnerable; weaker than a quadruple- amputee kitten with a chronic calcium-deficiency and a concussion.
Xander's last memory was being forcefully dragged from his getaway vehicle and having the butt of a rifle slammed into his head. Then the world went black.
No-one had ever accused Mrs. Harris' baby boy of being overly intelligent, but when he awoke, handcuffed and once-more devoid of all but the least clothing, in a white room with a single mirror and no exit immediately apparent, he decided that he was in more than a little trouble.
The 'mirror' was obviously a one-way window, Xander had seen enough Bond movies to realize that. His second clue came when a PA system was activated and her heard the voice that he had really begun to loathe.
"For what you have done here today, I will enjoy watching your pain." Smith was livid, and not entirely without cause. He had enjoyed a close relationship with Dr. Jenny and loosing her to some kid because she had miss-judged his violent tendencies was simply intolerable.
He would suffer. Oh yes, he would suffer.
Exodus from Sanity 2:1:8
Book 1: The Rebirth Chapter 1: Origins Part 1: Visions of the Future
Administrator Dubois sat calmly in his office awaiting the arrival of his assistant. Seated behind a large and impressive desk of finest ebony, the man contemplated his office. Having newly arrived within this facility, the office was decorated in a manner which could be called spartan. Apart from the desk and it's accompanying comfortable chair, there were three stools, a filing cabinet and conservative grey carpets.
Emanuel Dubois was hardly what could be called an impressive figure, his round face, bland features and pronounced nose did nothing to make him any more imposing. He sported dark hair that was slightly tinged with grey at the temples and upon his face sat a pair of reading spectacles that slightly obscured his brown eyes when viewed from an angle. Born into an average mid-western family, sent to a good school he had joined the military as soon as he finished MIT. His intelligence, perseverance and love for his country had found him the greatest employment he could have hoped for.
The cold war was over, but Uncle Sam was always doing its utmost to find new and radical methods to gain the upper hand over the other countries which threatened the American People. Emanuel Dubois had recently been placed in charge of the Special Projects division of Epsilon-5, a small, top-secret group which worked under the CIA. His task was to conduct experimentation into ways to increase the efficiency of the US Military.
His current focus was on one particular project, codenamed "Project Rebirth" The largest and potentially most expensive endevour that his section had ever attempted in it's thirty year history. It involved the use of Mutants, whose arrival had not yet been made public knowledge, but it was becoming more common in the world today. Mutants were Humans born with an extra something in their' genome, known as the X factor, a very unstable but immensely powerful section of the Human genome which had only recently begun to manifest itself. The X factor produced a wide variety of mutations within the host. Ranging from small, inconsequential changes such as an unusual eye colour, to extra ordinary physical and mental changes that allowed telepathy, telekinesis, enhanced senses and hundreds of other possibilities.
Also primary to project Rebirth was the advances made within the field of neuro-metallurgy. Possibly the most obscure field of science in existence, until recently, it had been considered a fantasy. The advent to a truly psycho-reactive metal was what made Rebirth possible. The metal Adamantium, used for the last fifty years in absolute secrecy and was reputedly unbreakable, was bound to certain biological elements. Through several extremely complicated occult procedures involving powerful magics, a substance was produced that could be considered a type of life on its own. The material, named Adamantanium for its close molecular resemblance to it's parent alloy, was the strangest, most alien of life-forms that had ever been encountered. The Adamantanium formed itself into tiny 'cells', so small that they were dwarfed by a human cell, and had the most rudimentary intelligence. The cells gathered together in droplets containing thousands and thousands of cells. Each droplet had the ability to bond with other droplets and to change it's shape as a whole. The droplets could become as solid as Adamantium or as liquid as Mercury regardless of the temperatures they were subjected to. Most importantly, the cells did reproduce, albeit slowly, given the correct minerals. Unfortunately, their' "Intelligence" was limited by the number of cells, and it took almost a full litre of cells to form the basis for any real degree of instinctive control. A litre, containing an estimated 2.3 billion individual cells, just to form a single cohesive action. This seemed to be a dead end from which there was no return. The cells, miraculous though they were, were just too stupid to be of any use.
Then a breakthrough was made, it was discovered that while droplets themselves couldn't actually affect any real changes in their' structure, they could be controlled by certain EM waves; waves of a very specific type, human brainwaves. Or at least, certain types of brainwaves, the droplet's needed to be in close proximity to the brainwaves and their' ability to obey a command was entirely dependant on their' own gestalt intelligence, i.e. how many of them there were. So while a droplet itself was limited in the extreme in what it could be manipulated into doing, a thousand droplets could 'understand' a more complex command.
The object of Rebirth had originally been to build a weapon out of Adamantanium that could change on command, however this was not possible because of several insurmountable problems and so the project had been shut down until the arrival of the new administrator, Mr. Dubois. Looking at the project files of his predecessor, inspiration struck him: Injecting the Adamantanium directly into the bloodstream of an agent. Once he suggested this plan to the lead researchers, they told him that the Adamantanium would permeate the agent's blood at a cellular level, that no Human could possibly survive that kind of procedure as it would involve massively invasive surgery.
Enter the Mutants. With the variety of mutations possible, Dubois reasoned, surely one could be found with the ability to heal fast enough to survive. So the archives were searched and only one Mutant fitted all of the criteria. Another group under the jurisdiction of the CIA had submitted the mutant's identity: The Initiative.
The initiative was based in a small town of Sunnydale and existed for the purpose of capturing, taming and utilizing Demons and other supernatural creatures. The location had been chosen because the town of Sunnydale was situated on a Hellmouth, a nexus for supernatural activity. Inside the base (located, for some strange reason, underneath a frat house on a university campus) were sensors designed to detect Humans, Demons and Mutants. Apparently, a group of civilians lead by the Slayer had broken into the Initiative and caused a ruckus over a captured werewolf. During this escapade, the internal sensors had registered one Slayer, one witch, one human and an unknown Mutant.
Dubois was jolted from his thoughts by the arrival of Edward Mason, his assistant. The man was quick, loyal, had an exceptional memory and was, most importantly, not very bright. This was always a good attribute for an assistant to have. The handed a report to Emanuel and waited for his instructions. Dubois took his eyes off of the man and quickly scanned the one-page report. It read:
WARNING: CLASSIFIED INFORMATION
SECURITY LEVEL: TOP SECRET
TO: E. DUBOIS, BASE ADMINISTRATOR FR: J. YUEH, SENIOR COMPUTER ANALYST SUBJ: INITIATIVE ARCHIVES 22 BETA/RED
Video recordings of the collapse of the Initiative after the release of subject 318 showed a battle. Six months of painstaking digital enhancement of all recordings of the battle showed a startling occurrence. The mutant was slashed lightly across the arm by a scalpal. The cut was so perfect that the Mutant had not even felt it. A good half inch deep and three inches long, the wound healed within 28 frames of recording. That was just over one second. Projections of his cellular regrowth rate showed that this Mutant possessed the required level of healing to have a 50:50 chance of surviving the procedure.
Recommended course of action: Immediate appropriation of subject,.
Subject Name: Harris, Alexander Lavelle
END OF LINE
Dubois placed the report onto his desk. Reached for his phone and picked it up, the faintest of smiles graced his lips. He spoke without dialing.
"Agent Smith, get your team together, project Rebirth is hot."
Book 1: The Rebirth Chapter 1: Origins
Part 2: Stolen Away
Agent Smith looked every bit the secret government agent he was. He wore a black suit with a black tie and a white shirt. He was clean-shaven with his short dark hair slicked back and a pair of small sunglasses covering his upward-turned eyes. The Californian sun shone down on him as he entered the unmarked black van containing his team. A twenty minute drive there, a quarter hour to retrieve the target then a long three hour drive to the airport were on the agenda for today. Smith Picked up the file that lay on his seat in the back of the vehicle, glanced at the driver and took his seat as the van pulled away.
The file was the standard biographical information on Alexander Harris; it contained the usual basic data, name, place and date of birth, employment history and current residence. Following that, there was a summary of the eight-page report on young Mr Harris' life. It went into great deal of detail about his work with the slayer and included an excerpt from one of Agent Finn's early reports:
".Harris, who is a friend of the slayer, has no skills or special knowledge about the occult or about any other subject, barring the fastest way to eat pizza with only one hand. How he came to be in their' group is a mystery, and why they allow him to remain with them continues to baffle me. In a combat situation, Harris' best known tactic is to charge the HST and pray for a miracle, should he ever be encountered as a hostile, his threat priority would be low. He is the lifelong friend of one Willow Rosenberg, a witch who."
Smith was an intelligent man; he knew full well that these soldier-boy types had a way of exaggerating everything, so he decided to err on the side of caution with this retrieval. Given his inside knowledge of what was intended for the poor sucker, he was sure that he didn't want to have to try and take him from his friends. They would very likely be over- protective of the boy who had no powers save for a suicidal streak a mile wide. Accordingly, he directed the driver to take them to the boy's home where they could take him without interference from the slayer or her friends. Agent Finn had been instructed to keep the Slayer away from the area during the day, but one can never be to sure.
Leaning back, Smith looked around the van to see the other three members of the team, all dressed the same. Then he looked down at the surface on which there were four of the new M-18 tazers. He loved these toys, they looked and handled like a regular pistol, but each shot out a 15ft wire with two darts on them, delivering a shock to the victim. Now, most people think that a shock is what happens when you accidentally touched a bad light switch. True, 240v was enough to make a person curse, but it didn't even come close to the 50,000v that these babies kicked out per discharge. The Initiative had tazers that didn't rely on these wires and darts, but they were big, bulky and unsuitable for stunning humans as they used far more electricity than was safe, though given the nature of this boy's mutation, Smith would have placed money that the boy would survive worse. Nevertheless, he wasn't about to go taking unnecessary chances that the administrator's prize might be damaged before the project began. He was aware of how rare the exact combination of mutation, physical and psychological factors to produce a subject with a 50:50 chance of surviving this incredibly invasive procedure. 50:50, Smith still balked at that, in his experience there had only been one other mutant with a healing factor of that magnitude.
Smith looked down at his left hand, which was missing the pinkie and ring fingers; he had lost them to a savage animal in an earlier posting as a guard. An animal they had created in a laboratory, with the resilience of an enraged rhino, and the ferocity of its namesake. A wolverine.
The van stopped, jolting Smith out his reverie, he grabbed his taser and slipped it beneath his suit. It may prove unnecessary to stun Mr. Harris and risk being seen dragging him into the van. A small neighborhood like this always had its nosy residents, no need to take the chance if the young man could be talked into accompanying them. He walked up to the door and knocked twice, his two associates remained behind him as he slipped into his 'official' persona.
The door opened to reveal an old, overweight man dressed in jeans and a string vest. The man gazed for a moment at the sky, as if startled by the presence of the morning, before fixing his eyes on the man in front of him.
"Yea, what d'ya want?" His voice had an accusatory tone to it; he blamed the man for getting him up at this time in the morning.
"Good morning, I am looking for one Alexander Harris?" Smith's tones were smooth as he projected a clear image of confidence and authority.
"He's not here." The man, Smith assumed to be Alexander's father, began to close the door.
"Might I ask where I might find him, it is rather important." Smith spoke quickly, not wanting to have to have the door closed in his face.
"Fucked if I know. Haven't seen the little shit in a while, try his friend's house next door." With that the conversation was halted and the door firmly (at least as firmly as a door this cheap could be) closed, leaving the agents alone.
Unperturbed, Smith lead them over to Ms. Rosenberg's house and inquired as to the location of Alexander. The woman who answered the door was far more civil and directed them to look at the residence of Buffy Summers. She gave them the address, and even invited them in for coffee. Politely declining the offer, Smith bid her goodbye and the group returned to the van.
This could be a problem, thought Smith. If the subject was at the house where the ex-watcher lived, then it was likely that the entire group would be there. They would have to go to Plan B. Plan B was essentially the same as Plan A, but involved allot more violence, and a great deal more risk of exposure. However, Smith had learned to always complete his tasks, or he paid for them dearly. His eyes unconsciously focused on his missing appendages.
Melancholy aside, he proceeded to the house and knocked. This time, backed up with only one agent, the other had traversed the garden and waited at the back door. A few seconds elapsed before anyone answered. Luck was with him, it was the subject. Smith acted quickly, he retrieved his taser and held it behind his back.
"May I help you?" Xander was bleary-eyed and he was the early riser of the group. Having just defeated Adam and then experiencing some of the strangest dreams of his life. He had stayed with the group at Buffy's for an extra day.
"Yes, I am agent Smith from the Federal Bureau of Investigation." Smith flipped out his badge, an expensive fake, but a very good one. Xander's eyes widened slightly at the sight of the emblem and he shook off and last vestiges of sleep.
"Who is it that you are looking for?" His voice betrayed his uneasiness.
"One Buffy Summers, are you her boyfriend?" Smith feigned curiosity.
"N, no I'm not, let me get her for you." Xander turned his back to call for Buffy, but his throat constricted and froze as he was struck in the back by the stun gun. 50,000 volts later, he was on the floor.
"Pick him up and lets go, now!" Smith hissed to the man on his left. Reaching into his jacket he spoke into his radio.
"Agent Kawalski, return to the van, objective completed." Smith switched off his radio and closed the door quietly as his man carried the very much unconscious young man to the van.
Smith turned and began to walk back toward the vehicle, his pace was quick and his thoughts kept returning to the very dangerous group within the building behind him, and just how pissed they would be very soon. He pitied any vampires that might be stupid (Though in his opinion, all vampires were stupid, it was just a matter of degree) enough to be in town when the Slayer decides to go looking for her friend. Agent Parker shifted the dead weight over his broad shoulders and was surprised to find himself toppling backwards as Mr. Harris rolled away from his grip.
Xander awoke groggy and was surprised to find himself flying sideways with a regular jarring of footsteps. Two seconds later, he had realised where he was and took the only possible step. He fought back.
~I didn't spend years fighting the forces of darkness with the Slayer only to be kidnapped by some assholes in expensive suits.~ He raged.
Xander rolled away from the grip and fell heavily to the floor. His muscles felt like they had been shredded with cheese wire, but he knew he would survive it. He had yet to find anything that could do worse than hurt him, though he did not enjoy that in any way.
All his rage and anger boiled within him as he leapt under the mans legs and grabbed him by the balls. He squeezed hard and stood up, dumping the man onto the ground, when he cracked his head on the asphalt, curled up into a ball and whimpered, clutching his nether regions. Years of manual labour had given Xander a grip to be proud of.
~Fighting fair, fuck that!~ he reasoned during one of his clearer moments of thought.
He looked up and saw the suit that had spoken to him earlier. The man who had shot him in the back with a stun-gun of some kind. The very same stun- gun, in fact, that was now pointed in his direction.
~Shit!~ He thought loudly as Smith's finger closed around the trigger.
"Shit!" He said loudly as the prongs embedded themselves into his chest and searing pain stabbed through him. Xander came crashing to the ground, and the last coherent thought in his mind as he blacked out was, perhaps unsurprisingly.
~Shit!~
Smith hit the boy again and again, conscious of his healing mutation, then, upon hearing a commotion inside the house, he picked up the boy himself and ran to the van. Kawalski came running around the building and seeing the downed agent, picked him up and carried his unconscious form to the van. Once inside, Smith banged on the backseat and yelled.
"DRIVE, GO NOW!"
The van jerked like a stung animal and practically flew down the road as the Slayer came running out of the house to investigate.
All she found was some blood on the floor, a van speeding away and a disturbing lack of Xander.
Book 1: The Rebirth Chapter 1: Origins
Part 3: Rude Awakenings
Of all the aspects of his life as a Slayerette, this was the worst. Xander groaned and with pain and tried to sit up, his eyes blurred and unfocused. Having this cool healing thing was useful, but it wasn't like it stopped him from feeling pain. While electric shocks wore off, he could still get drunk and thus he assumed that he could still be sedated.
Xander noticed something was amiss when his head (that was demanding attention from his hands to ease the throbbing) and his hands failed to meet. A quarter of a second later, he noticed something else was amiss, he couldn't move his hands more than a foot from where he had woken. His vision was making a comeback now and the first thing he saw as he opened his eyes was a blinding bright light. Quickly shutting them again, he concentrated on remembering what had happened.
He remembered opening the door, getting zapped, giving a man a vasectomy with his fingers and then getting zapped several more times. His trip down memory lane was interrupted when he heard footsteps in the otherwise quiet room. He lay back on the soft yet uncomfortable surface that could only be a hospital bed, and tried to feign sleep, hoping to overhear some clue as to where he was and what the hell was going on.
The footsteps drew nearer, and eventually Xander was able to make out a conversation.
".don't care! You should have been more discreet. Damn it Smith, you know how dangerous the Slayer and her little friends can be! You've read the reports as well as I have!" The voice was male, a slightly high pitched whining sort of voice that could only come from someone who desperately needed the living shit kicked out of them.
"Sir, I understand your concern over this. But you must understand, the projections for the boy's healing capabilities were inaccurate, one shock at half-power is enough to drop an angry bull. He shook it off in a minute. I had Kawalski stun him at regular intervals at full power for the trip to the plane, where he was properly drugged and bound. The van was, as always, unmarked and untraceable to the slayer, her hacker friend or even the regular army. " This voice was deeper, calmer and infinitely more unpleasant to Xander's ears.
The other man seemed to calm down at this. A long pause followed the statement, and Xander could almost hear the man rubbing his chin in thought.
"Well, what's done is done. And this means that the subject may have a better than 50% chance of survival after all. The Slayer is unlikely to find out where we are as I have instructed Agent Finn to lead her in the wrong direction in their' search."
"Then should I inform the good doctor that he should begin the procedure?" The voice belonging to 'Smith' had an anticipatory edge to it.
"Certainly, the sooner we begin, the sooner we can justify our expenditure to the head of the project. I have to go now and tend to other matters, I will see you later." The two footfalls separated and they could be heard heading in opposite directions.
Xander lay with his eyes closed, trying to get his protesting brain to process this new data. He was in some secret hospital, hidden from his friends and the only people who cared about him, and now he was to be the subject of some expensive 'procedure' which had something to do with his Heal-a-Wound-5000. Oh, and to top it all off, that army dickhead Riley was working for them and most importantly against him.
He was in deep shit.
After careful consideration, Xander decided to allocate the next minute or so to absolute panic.
This accomplished, he set about attempting his escape with a much clearer head. He looked around the small, white room that he had awoken in. He was lying on a hospital bed, he was strapped down at his wrists and ankles, and he was dressed only in a pair of Mickey Mouse boxers.
~Fan-fucking-tastic~
He examined the straps on his wrists, they were the normal type used to secure patients who are having convulsions or some such violent outburst. They were thick, padded, and utterly inescapable without help. He pulled and tugged with all his non-existent preternatural strength and found that it had absolutely no effect whatsoever.
He fell back onto the bed with a sigh, a thin sheen of perspiration covered his face as he concentrated on relaxing his breathing. Brute force was getting him no-where and he didn't know magic or escapology, time to re- evaluate the situation.
He was in very deep shit indeed.
He would be out of here soon, after all, his friends were probably on their' way here right now.
~I must be really desperate, to be that delusional~
Xander knew that he had been drifting from the group in the last year, ever since before graduation they had been steadily trying to keep him away from the danger of the Hellmouth. While all the while, they had been trying to take away his choice, it was his choice to fight, not theirs'. So he had been patrolling alone for a few months now, he was getting pretty good at it too. He could handle one, maybe even two vampires on a really good night. He was always careful to keep out of Buffy's way though, he knew what they would say.
Buffy would be all 'I'm the Slayer, I have the calling, I have the strength, I decide who patrols and I say it's not you.' Christ, she could be a self-absorbed brat sometimes. He briefly wondered if all Slayers were so ego-centric, remembered Kendra, and decided that the Watchers must train that out of them early.
Willow would of course just back up the Slayer, maybe add her two-cents about how they 'Just want to protect him.'
Giles would do as his Slayer decided, and then he would logic it all out and make themselves feel better about it, saying 'That it was for his own good and he'd be better off in the long run'
Anya, well, Anya would support them. He liked her and, she was really sweet, and she was extremely hot, but she would still support them on the grounds that she didn't want him to get hurt. She was 1100 years old, but still too young and new to being Mortal to understand that there were two kinds of Mortal in the world. Those that won't risk their' lives for something they believe in, and those that would.
Xander sat firmly in the second camp, but no one understood that.
During the bonding spell, he had had to work hard to keep his feelings buried in the moment, to not allow the worthlessness and the depression to seep through to his friends. Had they not been focussed on Buffy (What a surprise), they most likely would have seen through his façade, but that was always the way. They could see through his masks and his deceptions so easily, truly see him, but they never applied the necessary effort to do so. He was to clown, the comic-relief, the funny but not too bright joker. That is all he was to them, that was all they would ever see.
He cared about Anya, and he loved the Scooby's like family, but he was seriously thinking of leaving and going away. Nowhere in particular, just away from the strain of having to hide behind false masks. He never did, he never could pluck up the courage to leave her. He still loved Buffy, he had tried to tell himself it was just a crush, an infatuation, that he should move on. But it was pointless trying to hide behind a mask from himself, he really and truly loved her, even when he was disgusted by her, even when he almost hated her, he loved her. He always had, and had resigned himself to the fact that he always would, but she had never seen, as always, she never saw beyond the façade, the masks.
~Enough of this Pity Party Shit, I have to get out of here~ He thought angrily to himself, talk about the wrong place at the wrong time.
Xander heard the sound of footsteps coming down the hall and closed his eyes, hoping to feign sleep and then use the opportunity to escape.
Through a crack in his eyelids, Xander saw the blurry, indistinct images of two people-shaded blurs moving toward him in step. One was black and the other white; given that he was in a hospital-esque kind of place, Xander reasoned that the white blur could be a guy in a lab coat; this led him to believe that the black was a suit, probably Smith. His eyes closed completely and he concentrated on keeping his breathing slow and deep, as a drugged man's should be.
"Adminastrator Dubois suggests that you begin immediately." That was definitely Smith, Xander had registered his voice and filed it away in his 'Asses to be kicked' box.
"As I have told him on previous occasions, we cannot do anything until the drugs are flushed from his system. Given the dosage you pumped into him on the way here, I'd say that'll still be a good six hours yet." A woman's voice, with a well-modulated British accent, came from the doctor.
"I wasn't going to take chances with a Mutie like this! I learn from my mistakes." Smith's voice was defensive and confrontationary. He took this particular remark personally, the term 'Mutie' was unknown to Xander, but did not escape his notice.
"Calm down Smith, I wasn't criticising your actions, just pointing out consequences"
"I'm sorry Jenny, It's been a long day." Smith said with an apologetic sigh.
"Go back to your quarters, get some sleep, I promise you won't miss anything important." Doctor 'Jenny' persuaded the irate Agent
"You're right, I'll see you in a few hours. Just, keep a close eye on this one, there's something different about him, something dangerous, I don't won't you to be in the way if something goes wrong. Be careful, okay?" Smith's tone suggested to Xander that the two had some sort of relationship beyond their' work.
"I promise, now go on!" The Doctor's voice held a smile, and Xander could easily imagine her giving Smith a 'Shoo' gesture.
Smith's footsteps traveled away from him and Xander heard a door close before he lost the sounds.
~This is good, only one enemy~
The thought shocked Xander, he was thinking of this Doctor as just another enemy, something to be killed. He knew this kind of thinking had to do with his Halloween experience and as useful as it sometimes was, it disturbed his moral compass.
Book 1: The Rebirth Chapter 1: Origins
Part 4: Instinctive behavior
Dr. Jenny checked a pad at the foot of his bed, checked his vital signs on the monitor, noticing a lack of heartrate readings she frowned, then looked down and saw that the wrist monitor had come loose under the restraints. She unhooked the restraint around his right wrist and reattached the monitor, a steady beeping filled the room as the Doctor continued to work in silence. Xander stirred slightly, deliberately feigning pain to keep her from tying him down again. It worked, she took out a small flashlight and leaned over him.
~This is it, it's gotta be now~ He thought, then added
~I've only got one arm, she could call for guards if I play this nice, I am going to have to really hurt her. Can I do that? To save my own life? Could I. Kill her?~
There wasn't time to come to a decision, she was pulling open his eyelid, he heard the click of a pen-light and in silent panic reached for the nearest implement and struck with all his might at the back of her vunerable head, hoping to knock her out.
His hand flew toward her cranium, grasping a small piece of metal, something thin but sturdy. He didn't have time to care what it was, a pen, cable, a fucking tampon it was all he had. He was terrified, the thought of being experimented on, dissected was more than he could bear. Anger and fear rolled into rage and he put all his might into the swing.
Shit! He had missed her back, the strike caught the doctor in the back of the neck. It wasn't hard enough to break it, he knew, but enough to give her reason to scream.
He closed his eyes, somehow he expected her to call 'Guards, Guards' in a theatrical manner. A long pause later, he opened his eyes to see her bright blue eyes wide in shock. She was opening and closing her mouth, but no sound was emitted other than a gurgling, choking noise.
Confused, Xander's gaze traveled down mast her shapely nose, over her pretty mouth and past her slightly rounded chin to her neck.
For a moment, what he saw confused him, something metal and sharp had erupted from just above her Adam's apple. Her throat was a sea of red, he felt a warm, pleasant tickling sensation at his own neck. He looked down to see her blood flowing freely from the wound and pooling over his neck. He felt the wetness reach his chest as the blood seeped through her lab coat.
She was not struggling, not thrashing about as Xander was sure she should be with his arm around her neck and her lips in kissing distance. He looked up and kept staring into those oh-so-blue eyes and for a moment, through the surprise, he saw a glint of accusation, in her otherwise pained eyes.
But just as quickly as it came, he saw her begin to accept he incident, flashing through the psychological states in an instant, the shock, the pain, the anger, the sadness, the loss and finally the acceptance. Before seeing the light fade from her eyes. Her life ebbing away so quickly he was almost sure that it had never been there before. She was dead, gone, her beauty lost to the world forever and he had killed her.
A scalpel! that had been what he had picked up, not a pen but a surgeons tool of healing. He felt numb, he couldn't move, even as her corpse slumped onto the floor and the warmth from her body and blood began to give way to the cold air.
~I killed her, I killed her, Oh God I killed her. I killed her I killed her.~
The cycle span over and over in his mind, faster and faster it spun until there was only a cacophony of voice that seemed to say
~ KillKillKillKillKillKillKillKillKillKillKillKillKillKillKill~ he wasn't sure if it was an accusation, a statement of fact or a damnation from God himself, all he was a word, just a word.
Something cut through the whirlwind of sound like a knife.
~STOP! SHE'S DEAD AND YOU WILL BE TOO UNLESS YOU DO SOMETHING NOW~
He blinked and suddenly he was back in the room, the flurry of thoughts and emotions was gone, replaced by a cool, calming center. A balance within his mind, the state where he was a god in of himself, he was in control and there was nothing that he could not do. All to soon, though, this wonderful numbness passed and he was thrown back into the maelstrom. Shutting his mind away from anything other than the moment, he quickly separated the straps on his arm and legs and leapt to his feet. The door was locked, there was no keyhole, but a card reader.
He turned around slowly, resigning himself to the necessity of the truth, he walked over to the still form on the floor and turned her over onto her back.
Xander's eyes traveled again over her body, this time there was no emotion within him, no pity, no guilt, nothing. He reached down to her blood-soaked coat and unclipped her slightly stained ID card. Pausing for a moment, he quickly checked her pockets for anything useful but all he found was a pen and a wallet containing some cash and a photograph of a man with a dark suit and a familiar face. He left the pen and kept the wallet.
Looking down at his barely-dressed form, Xander decided that he would have to find some other clothing, being as the Doctors were covered with blood. His mind began to sort out priorities and he recognised this to be a Soldier's instinctive reaction to the feeling of being in enemy territory.
The absurdity of the situation hit him. Here he was, an unclothed, slightly drugged teenager in a god-knows-where Government lab surrounded by people who would either kill him, shoot him or possibly both and he thought he had a chance in hell of escaping.
Firstly, find some clothing, blend in as much as possible. Second, find out where he was and secure transport. Third, do whatever it takes to make sure this doesn't happen again.
It occurred to Xander at this point that no matter what he did from this point on, he was still a killer. Would it drive him to madness, like Faith? Or maybe turn him into a brooding moron like Angel. Whatever happened, Xander knew that the others would never accept him back, not after this, they would never understand that he had had no choice, it would be the black and the white of a Slayer's world that would undo him. He was a murderer, a sociopath, an evil thing to be destroyed. Perhaps it would be better for him to stay here and await his fate.
But he was not one to simply wait for slaughter like lamb. He was a killer, he was powerful enough to take that woman's life, he could get out of here. He WOULD do whatever was necessary to get out here even if it meant had to kill every man, woman and child between him and his objective. This line of thought was both terrifying and comfortable to Xander, he came into this situation a child, but now he was a killer, his innocence destroyed, there was no way he was going to stay for whatever Frankenstein experiments these people were planning.
Xander left the room quickly and quietly, and after checking the corridor directly outside the room, he allowed himself to become truly cold. He was damned now, he had nothing left to loose. Nothing but his life.
He was leaving, and god help anyone who got in his way.
Book 1: The Rebirth Chapter 1: Origins
Part 5: Exodus Interrupted
Quickly glancing down the corridors, he picked one at random and began a light jog along the silent halls. The sound of his bare feet slapping the polished floor was the only thing that broke the silence. Behind his eyes, Xander's mind was working a mile a minute, cataloguing everything he saw. A soldiers reaction that made Xander think of a line he had read in a book somewhere.
"When a crisis situation develops, the Human mind reacts in a certain way. Think of it as a spectrum, with Unconsciousness at one end and Hyperconsciousness at the other. The mid-point of this spectrum is the normal human mind-body state. Which end of the spectrum the mind tends to in a crisis depends heavily upon training."
Well, he was most certainly in Hyper-state now, he was hardly breathing hard although his heart was pounding.
Xander was about to reach an intersection, his mind registered someone approaching from the blind corner, one set of footsteps a tuneless whistle, the squeak of a push-trolley, the movement of shadow along the white walls all led him to a conclusion. A janitor, perfect.
Xander began to sprint, running hard and fast, he had timed it so that he would reach the man as he turned the corner. Xander prayed no one was to close at this moment as he ploughed into the very surprised Hispanic man in blue-coveralls. A surprised squeal escaped him as Xander grabbed the man around the throat and they both fell into the wall.
The man hit his head on the corner with a sickening crack, Xander didn't slow or stop, he pulled him away from the floor and slammed him into it again and again, each time more violently and viscously than the last. At last, Xander released the limp form to the ground, grabbing quickly at the coveralls, he stood back and donned them. A pool of scarlet was slowly expanding from the back of the now-deceased Janitor. Once again, looking down at his latest prey, Xander felt totally balanced within himself, confident and powerful. This time the feeling was more intense, this time it had not been accidental, he had not just killed the guy, Xander Harris had murdered him, deliberately taken his life so that his could continue. And it felt right, he had survived, he was the stronger of the two and he had lived. The man at his bare feet was dead because he was weaker than him, simple as that.
Xander decided not to waste time trying to clean up after himself, there was a great deal of mess and it would take to long, so he stole the mans shoes and finding them to be about his size, he slipped them on. He stood up and without a backward glance continued down the corridor at a steady jog.
Lady luck was a fickle mistress, he had managed to find an exit without meeting any other personnel, unfortunately, one or both of the bodies had evidently been discovered. Every alarm on the base had been tripped, men, soldiers from the look of it were scrambling over the tarmac of some kind of runway outside of the complex, there was also a long road moving off into the distance.
Xander decided it was time for a sharp exit, and since he couldn't fly a plane, the only exit would be one of those jeeps. As quickly and stealthily as a partially bright blue-clad teenager could, Xander made his way toward the closest vehicle. Keeping low against the side, Xander leapt into the driver's seat of the unoccupied vehicle and started the engine.
Xander was not a particularly good driver, having only had his uncles 'car' to practice in, but situations like these can do wonders for your concentration. The jeep leapt and began to accelerate down the road.
Unsurprisingly, a camouflage-green jeep tearing away with a man in blue coveralls at the wheel was not the sort of thing that went unnoticed by the hundred-odd soldiers who were at present performing passable impressions of headless chickens.
Three seconds after Xander had hit the accelerator a cry of alarm alerted a single soldier.
Six seconds later, the highly-trained man had dropped to his knee and was taking aim at the speeding vehicle.
Less than one-quarter of a second later, the Colt CAR-15 assault rifle bucked as the trigger was depressed and the weapon fired on full-auto.
Within a second sixteen 5.56mm bullets had left the barrel travelling at super-sonic speeds, the first passed through the window six inches to the left of Xander's head. The next three penetrated his body, destroying his left elbow, shattering the shoulder and puncturing the left ventricle of his beating heart. The next eleven shots ricocheted across the metal frame of the jeep. The final bullet missed the target completely and imbedded itself in a boulder two-hundred metres away.
Less than five seconds later, Xander Harris lost control of the speeding vehicle and slumped across the wheel, the jeep turned sharply and rolled over onto it's left hand side. The jeep came to a skidding stop, 50 yard away from it's staring point with the wheels spinning as the driver bled profusely. Thirteen soldier immediately began to converge on the overturned vehicle.
Xander had fallen into a state of near-unconsciousness, as was usual when he was mortally wounded, his healing-factor kicked into what he less-than- affectionately dubbed 'overdrive'. His heart pounded and his lungs labored to provide his body with the energy he needed to heal himself, while he was left utterly helpless and totally vulnerable; weaker than a quadruple- amputee kitten with a chronic calcium-deficiency and a concussion.
Xander's last memory was being forcefully dragged from his getaway vehicle and having the butt of a rifle slammed into his head. Then the world went black.
No-one had ever accused Mrs. Harris' baby boy of being overly intelligent, but when he awoke, handcuffed and once-more devoid of all but the least clothing, in a white room with a single mirror and no exit immediately apparent, he decided that he was in more than a little trouble.
The 'mirror' was obviously a one-way window, Xander had seen enough Bond movies to realize that. His second clue came when a PA system was activated and her heard the voice that he had really begun to loathe.
"For what you have done here today, I will enjoy watching your pain." Smith was livid, and not entirely without cause. He had enjoyed a close relationship with Dr. Jenny and loosing her to some kid because she had miss-judged his violent tendencies was simply intolerable.
He would suffer. Oh yes, he would suffer.