The darkness was complete. He felt it, heard is drifting silkily all around him, could taste the inky sweetness. The gentle, caressing coldness softly ran its fingers over his skin. Behind his closed eyes it was darker than any night.
Outside shafts of gentle light filtered down through the leaves of a tree above him. A youngish man wearing a loose-fitting Oriental robe sat upon a rock in his private garden, his eyes closed, his legs crossed in front of him. The floating, disembodied sounds of a freeway drifted over the garden, but he couldn't hear it.
Inside there was peace. The man's thin lips twitched slightly in a small smile. The darkness was torn from his inner screen and replaced by a blurry picture of himself. He watched as his face smiled at him and his body sharpened into clearer and clearer detail. Soon he could make out individual pores on his skin. He held the picture in his mind for several minutes, an image of himself smiling and seeming to bleed light from his flesh.
Like a projector flashing between slides, the image winked out and left the man once more in an empty universe of smooth satin shadows and liquid fluid silence. His lips twitched again and his eyelids fluttered slightly. A weak shuddering whisper of fog-ridden breeze wound its way through the garden. The sounds from the freeway increased, and over time died down. The sun continued its slow majestic plunge over the edge of the world, and the stars shimmered into visibility; and still the man sat.
When he opened his eyes, the light from the stars seemed blinding. He was glad that there was only a small sliver of moon tonight. His legs straightened, and he stood quickly, fluidly; ignoring the discomfort of unfolding himself. As he moved across the garden, breathing deeply the scents of the fauna, his head was pleasantly empty and seemingly distant. He smiled again, adjusting his dark, rimless glasses and glancing down at his watch. It was midnight, to the minute.
Removing a key attached to a silver chain around his neck, the man unlocked the solid wooden door leading into a dark house. Stopping for a moment to re-lock the door, the man replaced the silver chain about his neck. He moved through it expertly, quickly, not bothering with any lights. He had spent several hours sitting in each room of the house, engraving everything down to the most minute detail into his mind, a slide to be projected onto his inner screen whenever needed. Down a flight of stairs, a dozen steps forward, turn, three steps, a switch on his left. The fluorescent light above snapped on, flooding the room in harsh light. It would be nice to have that light changed, something softer, this one hurt his eyes.
The walls of the room were lined with bookshelves, and a thin mattress lay in one corner of the room. Aside from a plain wooden dresser the room was empty, the concrete floor making it seem both sterile and primitive. On the cot was a pair of freshly pressed black pants, a finely tailored black sports jacket a black tie and an expensive black shirt. At then end of the mattress were a pair of fine black leather shoes. The man shed his robe and quickly slipped into the clothes, folded the robe back up and placed it in a drawer of the dresser. Opening the top drawer of the plain wooden dresser, he removed twin .38 caliber pistols. The man spent several minutes mechanically checking the weapons, dismantling them and then putting them back together. Satisfied that they were in proper working order and loaded, he slid them into shoulder holsters and resettled his jacket.
Snapping the light off, the man moved through the empty house and unlocked the front door. Locking it once more behind him he crossed the grass to a black Monte Carlo parked at the curb. Sliding into the driver's seat, the man took another moment to glance at his watch.
12:15. Time to go to work.

The traffic had long since died down, but LA was anything but asleep. The pulsating music from countless clubs and the burning lights from innumerable signs hummed through the air. People laughed and fought and danced and drank. And some of them sat alone wondering, thinking about all those other people. Buffy Summers was one of those people.
She wasn't sure why she was here, sitting on the roof of a club, her friends below. She had been with them for a while, dancing, laughing, having a good time. But that never seemed to last, there was always a reason to leave. So she had come up here, to get a breath of fresh air and watch the stars. Her thoughts were free to drift up here, alone, with the comforting sounds of people living below her. And they drifted back to the same place they always did. At first, when it had been fresh in her head, when it had happened, she had thought that there was a chance that it would be the end, that it would mean peace.
Unfortunately it seemed as though she was never meant to find real peace. The world was a different place now, and even though most people would never know the change, Buffy's last day in Sunnydale had had a profound effect on her life and the lives of hundreds of girls the world over. They had changed the face of the planet that day, two months ago, they had proven that they could prevail, and that they would do it together. Buffy Summers had proven to herself and to her friends that it would end.
It seemed like she was wrong.
They had left the gaping hole that was Sunnydale and they had traveled. Everyone seemed to agree that they were in no hurry to make it to any sort of destination; everyone just wanted to rest and to forget. To put it behind them and adjust. Buffy was finding that she was unable to adjust, if the others were having the same problem they hid it well.
For years and years Buffy had dreamed of living a normal life, like a normal ordinary girl. And she finally had that chance. At first she had reveled in it, sleeping late, not having to risk her life every night fighting pointless routine battles. But she found that she no longer had a purpose, and that a life without purpose was not really a life. She deserved to have anything she wanted, surely she deserved a little happiness, but it seemed she couldn't figure out what would make her happy.

Closure. That was the word she was looking for, she thought. Things had ended with such a crashing resounding finality. And yet it felt to her as though it wasn't really over. Like she still had things left to do. Buffy Anne Summers sighed and stood. Whatever may come for her, whatever may happen, there was nothing she could do to either speed it up or stop it from coming. That was the way of life. Feeling a kind of detached calm that hurt a little in her chest, she went back down to the club to join her friends.

He had only been in this City of Angels for a week and the twisting labyrinth of freeways and alleys was still nearly impossible to navigate. And the masses of cars and people sifting endlessly through the city added immeasurably to his confusion and frustration. It was worse for him now as he wasn't sure of his destination. He also wasn't sure how he would know his destination when he stumbled upon it. There were still so many things he couldn't understand. He had been given a power, of that much he was sure, but it was as though whoever had granted him the gift had neglected to give him the key. It wasn't like in the movies where he was possessed by overwhelming strength or could suddenly throw flames from his fingertips. This was very different. As though some higher power was using him, revealing things to him as they needed him to understand. It was both a frightening and somehow tranquil experience, what was meant to happen would happen when the time was right. Tonight was important. He had spent the past twelve years preparing for what was to come and tonight was the beginning of all of that. Technically speaking he had already set things in motion several months before, but tonight and the following days would determine if his endeavors could possibly succeed. Out of careless instinct, a whim really, he pulled a sharp left and began to drive down a street lined with clubs and bars. The bright lights burned at his eyes beneath the dark glasses, and he had to squint at the road to avoid running over any idiotic drunken fools wandering about. He sighed and shook his head, watching a group of young men and women stumble along the sidewalk, one of them stopping and vomiting violently into the gutter. Sometimes he wondered why he had sacrificed what he had to save these people. Instantly he reminded himself that it was because it was the right thing to do and that besides, the alternatives to his self-transformation were extremely unpleasant. If he hadn't become what he was today, chances were he'd be dead. This was the right choice, ethically and logically. As he drove down the successive streets, keeping his mind open and letting his thoughts drift freely from point to disconnected point, he began to experience the strange pulling sensation that had led him along for the past two months. Allowing the sensation, whatever it was, to guide his mind and conduct his steering, the man reached into the inside pocket of his suit and extracted a small silver phone. "Jenny Calendar," he said into the speaker of the phone, snapping it open and bringing it to his ear. The sound of a phone ringing in England buzzed over the phone and on the third ring a voice answered. "I'm here. I'm assuming this is you, Cain?" He smiled slightly, picturing the young woman on the other end of the line. That she was alive was still a slight shock to him, he could hardly believe it. Even after watching her body appear, flawless, from the ether, or wherever the hell it was she had been. "Who else? Is everything going smoothly over there? Nothing I need to worry about?" "No nothing. I don't know what you've been telling everyone, but its really working." "Only the truth. They listen because it makes sense." His inner screen began to brighten of its own will, replacing his view of the road with a picture of a sun drenched porch in England, Jenny Carpenter sitting across from him, sipping tea. "Did you call for any reason other than to be righteous?" "Of course. I just wanted to let you know that I'm hoping to find them tonight. If things turn out like I hope they do you'll be able to make an announcement to all interested parties that should bring most of them to our side." The image faded, Ms. Calendar smiling at him as the road blurred back into focus. "I'll call you in two hours." The voice on the other end of the line laughed. "Ok then boss. I'll start writing that announcement up." "Thank you Jenny." "Like they say Cain, I owe ya big time." There was a click and the irritating hum of the dial tone. Cain allowed himself one last faint smile as he snapped the phone shut and replaced it in his pocket. Things were falling into place. He pulled his car up to the curb in front of a large club, utterly amazed that the space was open. Getting out of the car, he studied his surroundings. The sidewalks on either side of the street were clogged with people, there were several clubs on this street and long lines to get into most of them. The one he was interested in was apparently the most popular, the people in line were all well-dressed, the kind of beautiful people one could only find in a city such as this. Cain sighed, vanity was such a useless flaw.

He approached the club's bouncer, an exceedingly large man with the physique of an ape and the face of an angry bull. The man was sweating profusely and glared at Cain with small, stupid eyes as he approached. Reaching into his suit, Cain extracted a hundred dollar bill and waved it openly in the face of the bouncer when he was a few feet away. "You a cop?" the bouncer asked, his voice slow and deep. "We don't want no cops here tonight. Kills the crowd." "No, I'm not a cop," Cain replied, careful to keep any trace of contempt from his voice. "I just don't want to wait in line. That's not a problem certainly?" The bouncer eyed him a moment longer and then snatched the bill from his fingers. "Fine, no problem." The large man nodded to a second, smaller man leaning against the wall by the door. This second man stepped forward, his hard eyes keen, intelligent. This was security, someone who had an idea how danger could be assessed and dealt with. Cain saw how the man measured him, his eyes concluding that he could be dangerous. "We won't tolerate trouble here. If something goes wrong, you will be ejected. Forcibly." His tone left no question as to just what he meant by forcibly. "Just be careful to behave yourself." Cain smiled, a false smile of reassurance and calm. "You don't have to worry. I'm just looking to have a night out. I won't cause any trouble." He hoped that this was true, but he couldn't ever be sure. The man nodded and opened the door to the club. Cain slipped the man a fifty dollar bill and stepped through the door. Faith and Robin were dancing, Buffy was somewhere else, probably sulking, and Dawn couldn't spot Willow through the crowd. She was probably somewhere off alone with Kennedy. "I shudder to think why anyone would enjoy something like this." Giles commented, sitting on a barstool beside her, nursing a drink. "You just need some time to adjust Rupert. It's actually quite enjoyable. Eventually." Dawn's fabricated memory included that voice and a few sparse images of the man accompanying it. But the Wesley leaning against the bar was far different from the Wesley she had heard about in Sunnydale. "I'll never find a place like this enjoyable. This bloody music is insufferable," the former watcher slurred, his brown suit distinctly out of place and screaming British Man at the top of it's pinstriped lungs. "I like it. It's fun. You two should find someone and go dancing." Dawn said quietly, not sure they would want her interrupting their drunken bantering. Giles stared at her for a moment and then broke out into helpless laughter. Wesley, however, grinned broadly and jumped from his barstool, swaying slightly. "Come on then you beautiful young lady. To the dance floor!" Giggling, Dawn allowed herself to be swept into the maze of flashing lights and dancing people. They danced for a few moments, but Wesley disappeared shortly, a sick look on his face. Dawn grinned and continued to dance, making her way towards Faith and Robin, wanting to see how they were doing.

Before she got there, she spotted her sister. Buffy was standing in the middle of the dance floor, and across from her was a man who stood out distinctly against the backdrop of people. Dawn stopped dancing and moved towards them, studying the man as she did so. There was something about him, Dawn was quickly certain that she would be able to recognize him in any setting, anywhere. He held himself with supreme confidence, a kind of contained power seeming to seethe through him. It felt like he was moving a million miles and hour standing still. He was wearing expensive clothes, and he looked excellent in them, but they weren't right for his surroundings. He had medium length hair that was swept back in a kind of disarrayed wave, and his eyes were obscured by dark rimless glasses. His face was serious, devoid of emotion and very, very handsome. As she got closer, Dawn began to hear some of their words. His voice was low and smooth, with a kind of higher melody to it that Dawn liked. ".I need to talk to them, all of them. And to you. We have important things to talk about. But I know that you don't trust me." "You're right about that. I have no reason to." Buffy looked slightly confused, but the confidence that Dawn admired so much was still intact. The man reached into his suit and Dawn gasped, catching a glimpse of a gun, but he simply pulled out a scrap of paper. "This is the address of the house where I'm staying. I'll be in the garden. Come before the sun sets tomorrow. Bring whatever you need to feel safe." Before Buffy could reply, or Dawn could reach them, the strange man was gone. "Buffy! Who was that?" Dawn asked her older sister as she rushed up to her. Buffy's eyes were following the stranger through the crowd, he was in no hurry. "I don't know Dawn. Maybe someone important." She opened the scrap of paper and Dawn got a glimpse of the single word written upon it in flowing handwriting. Cain.