The Angel's Knight #4 - Wild Country
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110 miles north of Los Angeles, October 14, 2017
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Sunnydale.
I never thought I'd come back here. I've lost count of the times this stupid town almost killed me, and here I am, giving it another chance. I must truly have lost it this time. Well, nobody ever accused Xander Harris of doing too much thinking in his spare time. Or at any time, really. I'm too old to start now.
Hard to believe that I spent over half my life in this godforsaken place. Hard to believe this ever was much of a place to begin with. There isn't much left of it these days. Not much at all, and I'm not just talking about physical presence, you know? One interesting fact I noticed on my way here is that most people don't even seem to remember that there ever was a town called Sunnydale. Nor do most people find it strange that there is a never- ceasing dust storm covering the spot where they don't remember a town having been.
Looks like the old Sunnydale ignorance has spread.
Don't get me wrong, I always knew that Sunnydale's citizens weren't the only ones who liked to ignore reality. I mean, our town had thirteen cemeteries and all of them were filled to the rafters. We were the murder capital of the nation and about ninety-five percent of the murder cases here, most of them involving mysterious puncture wounds or gangs on PCP, were never solved. One would think the FBI would have investigated Sunnydale or something. No one ever did, though. It's as if no one outside the city limit even knew we were there.
Well, we're not there any longer, that much is for sure. I had no trouble finding my way here, but I got the feeling that most other people could have spent their lives searching for the right road and still not gotten anywhere close to the former city limit. Just a hunch I have. I've learned to trust my hunches a long time ago.
Standing where the 'Welcome to Sunnydale' sign used to be, you need a lot of imagination to see even a passing resemblance to the town I grew up in. Most of the buildings were leveled by that last burp of the Hellmouth, leaving only ruins in their place. It's a good thing that deadboy pulled some strings with a few important people he knows and had the town evacuated before it all hit the fan, otherwise I'd be treading through corpses right about now. Or maybe not. The dead did have the tendency not to stay dead in Sunnydale, after all. Probably still do.
So you might be asking yourself, why is that idiot Xander Lavelle Harris going back into the town he almost-died in on a nightly basis for twenty- one long years? Why now, after happily living elsewhere for a decade and a half, does this pea-brain go back to Hellmouth Central? Well, my answer to that question won't raise your opinion of my intelligence, that much is for sure.
I'm here because of a dream.
I've had nightmares for most of my life. Never told anyone about it, or almost no one. Anya knows, of course. Hard not to, seeing as she's been sleeping next to me for quite a while now. I told Willow a long time ago, but only once and never mentioned it again. We never really talked about it.
The nightmares have varied over the years, always dealing with what was the current low in my life. My parents starred for most of the early years, to be replaced by all kinds of monsters and beasties once a certain blonde girl opened my eyes to the darker side of the town I was living in. I had dreams about the future, mostly showing me becoming the same kind of bastard my father was. I had dreams about my friends, condemning me for my uselessness or leaving me as snack food to one demon or another.
They never went away, but I've learned to deal with them a long time ago. One of the good points of constantly dreaming about some sort of really bad and fucked-up version of your life is that your real life seems pretty good in comparison, no matter how hard it might suck at the moment. These last few nights, though, things have been different. A different kind of nightmare took over the movie palace that is my dreams.
It's always the same. That last year in Sunnydale when everything went bad. The year after Buffy died. Damn, it's been sixteen years and it still hurts to think about her. Determined to the bitter end, resolved that she would keep the world safe even if it took beating a god. She did it, she did it all. Saved the world a lot. Then she died, though, and things were never the same afterwards.
We were all too busy with our own grief to see how it affected the one member of our group we always saw as the most level-headed among us. Willow, my best friend as far back as I can remember. She never got over losing Buffy. She blamed herself and was resolved to find a way to make it better.
It started innocently enough. She rebuilt the Buffybot to keep up the illusion that the Slayer was still in town. To keep the demons in check. Okay, we could all live with that. But Willow wanted to extend that little ploy from the demons to the normal people, wanted to let the whole world think Buffy was still alive. Thank God we dissuaded her from that notion. Thinking about the Buffybot trying to behave like Buffy in front of normal people is giving me nightmares of an altogether different sort.
None of us knew that she was planning to do much more than that, though. None of us except Tara, that is. Willow did not think she could do it alone, so she tried to get Tara to help her. Help her do the unthinkable, help her do something that went against all laws of nature, man, and God.
She wanted to raise Buffy from the dead.
Now don't get me wrong. I would have been ecstatic to have Buffy back, but even back then I knew enough about magic and the supernatural to realize that it would be a really, really bad idea to try something this major. Tara thought the same way and tried to dissuade Willow. Only she would not be dissuaded this time and when Tara threatened to expose her plan to the rest of us, especially Giles, Willow did something else none of us would ever have thought her capable of.
She used a spell on Tara and wiped her memory of the whole thing. The planned resurrection, the fight, everything. Used magic to change her lover's mind to her own design. I have a hard time using the word 'rape' in the same sentence as the name of my best friend, but that was exactly what Willow did to Tara.
And then she went ahead and tried to raise Buffy on her own. The only problem was that the thing that crawled out of Buffy's grave that night was something that ... even today I can't describe it. It was dead, but it walked. It looked a bit like Buffy, but none of us would ever have mistaken it for her. It even retained enough of Buffy's memories to know about and come looking for us, but it wasn't her. Not even close.
That thing would have killed us all that night if not for Spike. Yeah, Spike, the fangless wonder. Almost makes me feel bad for treating him like shit for those two years he was among us with that chip in his head. Of course then I remember how many people he killed in his long existence and I regain something of a perspective on the saintliness of William the Bloody, but it does not change the facts. He saved all our butts that night and paid for it with his own. The thing ripped his heart out even as he beheaded it.
The shock of seeing all that broke the spell and Tara remembered everything. God, I never would have thought her capable of that kind of fury. For a moment back then I thought she would kill Willow with her bare hands. Instead she left town and ... I think she took someone with her, but I can't remember. Well, can't have been that important.
With Spike dead, Tara gone, and Giles having moved back to England only a few days before that terrible night, there were only three of us left. Willow, Anya, and me. And despite everything that had happened I was too blind to see what was happening to my best friend. Yeah, I was angry with her, but I was too blind to see that the guilt she displaced was not because of the things she had done. No, she only felt guilty for having failed, for having made a mess of things. She was determined to try again, determined to make everything better. And not hesitant to barrel right over everyone who did not see things her way.
To this day I do not know how much of my blindness that year was the result of some sort of spell Willow might have cast over me. I honestly don't know which way I'd prefer it: My best friend manipulating me or me having been so blind all on my own. Maybe it's better that I'll never know.
Finally even I could no longer ignore all the things Willow was doing and, not having the heart to fight with her about it, I took my brand-spankin' new wife Anya and left town. I just turned tail and ran out on my best friend while she was consumed by the darkness. Yeah, I know that sounds like something out of a George Lucas movie, but that is exactly what happened. Willow fell to the dark side, too fascinated with everything she could do with her fancy magical powers to realize what it was doing to her. I don't know whether she ever saw how wrong it was to manipulate Tara like that, to try and twist nature that way.
And it all ended with this. A destroyed town, the ruins hidden behind a perpetual curtain of dust. None of us know exactly what happened here the day Sunnydale died. Cordy got a vision about it and saw Willow undertaking some kind of ritual. Deadboy somehow convinced the feds to evacuate the place. A few hours later Sunnydale was gone.
I never went back here, but I know deadboy and a few of his guys did. They looked for survivors and wanted to make sure that nothing extra-evil had slipped out of the Hellmouth. They found nothing, though. More than that, apparently the Hellmouth exudes a lot less of the demonic mojo now than it did back when I called this place home. Whatever Willow did seems to have drained the thing but good.
I still don't know whether or not Willow died in this place.
That's why I'm here. I guess it's long overdue, fifteen years overdue. I didn't want to come back because I didn't want to see what my best friend had done, the devastation she had wrought. Somehow, as long as I didn't see it with my own eyes, I could still somehow keep Willow and the catastrophe that happened here separate. In my mind she is still the girl I knew. Babbling, innocent, so incredibly shy and cute.
Then the dreams started. I keep seeing her here, over and over again. I saw what she did to Tara, I saw how she raised that thing from Buffy's grave, I think I even saw that damn ritual she did that doomed this town, even though I can't possibly know anything about it. And I also think ... no, I know ... that I have to be here. Something survived here, something is unfinished. The Hellmouth is still here, no matter how quiet it has become. No doubt a lot of the monsters survived underground.
And maybe ... maybe my best friend is still alive here somewhere.
So here I am, standing on the former Sunnydale city limit, trying to work up the nerve to dive into that perpetual dust storm and look for ... something. Well, I might be completely insane and stupid, but at least I've got a little help. Long gone are the days when we took on the Sunnydale nights with nothing but stakes and bad puns. These days we use the latest in high-tech to wipe out the beasties.
Things like the scanning array deadboy's people put up around the city limit, just in case anything ever tries to sneak out of here. The latest in motion and infrared detectors, coupled with magical runes that will pick up those things that can fool the eye of the camera. All linked up to a handy satellite up in orbit, one that keeps the computer in my car up to date about everything that's moving inside Sunnydale. Or at least everything within the first mile or so; beyond that they can't see much, either.
My car, a nice little all-terrain number that could drive on the surface of the moon (or so says the ad) is loaded with everything one might need to take care of just about every demon we ever came across. All the best toys you can buy with a really big, blood-stained portfolio and about three centuries of cumulative interest. Say what you want about deadboy's evil alter ego, but the bastard was a shrewd investor.
Okay, Harris, you've been standing here long enough. Time to get back in the car and do it, otherwise you might as well turn around right now and head back home. Not the worst idea in the world, that. Ah, what the hell. I climb back in and hit the gas pedal, causing the hummer to jump right into the dust storm. Visibility drops like a stone and I'm profoundly thankful for the various computer screens in front of me.
Who needs eyes when you got high-tech?
A lot of things are still moving inside what was once Sunnydale. About half a mile to my left the scanners pick up a large group of what are probably Mantises. Natalie French's little bastard children. I guess we missed a sack of her eggs when we cleaned out her basement and hacked her into tiny little pieces all these many years ago. God, were we young then. Giles theorized that they hatched when the Hellmouth erupted. Nothing like a good dose of hellish energy to make up for not having a giant Praying Mantis to incubate those little babies.
Several vampires are moving among the ruins as well. Easy to identify those. Motion trackers pick them up, infrared doesn't. It's a lot harder with most other forms of demons. Then there are the zombies. They don't emit a lot of heat, either, and don't move a lot unless there is something (make that someone) to feed on close by. From what deadboy told me it seems that most of the cemeteries emptied out when Willow pulled her ritual. These days the dead of Sunnydale are mostly standing around doing nothing, happily rotting away, waiting for some fresh meat to come into range. Not a lot of that to be found here, of course.
I drive down Rivelo and some part of my brain insists on muttering "fresh meat on wheels anyone?" over and over again.
Soon the streets are so cluttered with debris and ruins that I have to leave the car behind. I really don't want to be here without a solid, bullet-proof box of metal all around me, but I guess I don't have much of a choice. At least I know that I'm not the only living human being around here. I'm out of range of the perimeter scanners, but the little buggers I have in my car have picked up quite a few heat signatures. Humans, or maybe some sort of demon species that can pass really well. What would humans be doing in here? Don't tell me they got some sort of weird dreams, too.
Getting out of the car makes me feel really, really bad. Okay, so I'm wearing a suit that masks my heat signature and prevents any sort of scent from leaking out, but somehow that does not make me feel all that safe. I'm packing enough firepower to blow a regiment of vampires to bits. Nope, not feeling safe with that, either. Looks like I have to go through this without feeling safe. Lucky me.
There are barely any recognizable landmarks around and the dust storm reduces visibility to about five meters in all directions. Still, I know exactly where I'm heading. When I saw Willow perform that damn ritual in my dreams I also saw where she did it. That lovely place I was certain I wasn't going to get out of alive. Looks like I'm going to give it another shot at killing me.
Sunnydale High. What's left of it.
Never knew ruins were so damn popular. I can see quite a few zombies and vampires sniffing around, even a Mantis or two, but most of the figures I see seem to be one hundred percent human. Or as human as people who like to wear black robes and spend their free time at Hellmouths can be. What are they all doing here? What's with the unified dress code? Why haven't they been eaten yet?
Okay, there's but one way to find out, isn't there? Let's see if I can get my hands on one of those nifty black robes. Have I mentioned that I have to be completely fucking crazy to be back in Sunnydale? Yeah, thought so
TO BE CONTINUED
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110 miles north of Los Angeles, October 14, 2017
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Sunnydale.
I never thought I'd come back here. I've lost count of the times this stupid town almost killed me, and here I am, giving it another chance. I must truly have lost it this time. Well, nobody ever accused Xander Harris of doing too much thinking in his spare time. Or at any time, really. I'm too old to start now.
Hard to believe that I spent over half my life in this godforsaken place. Hard to believe this ever was much of a place to begin with. There isn't much left of it these days. Not much at all, and I'm not just talking about physical presence, you know? One interesting fact I noticed on my way here is that most people don't even seem to remember that there ever was a town called Sunnydale. Nor do most people find it strange that there is a never- ceasing dust storm covering the spot where they don't remember a town having been.
Looks like the old Sunnydale ignorance has spread.
Don't get me wrong, I always knew that Sunnydale's citizens weren't the only ones who liked to ignore reality. I mean, our town had thirteen cemeteries and all of them were filled to the rafters. We were the murder capital of the nation and about ninety-five percent of the murder cases here, most of them involving mysterious puncture wounds or gangs on PCP, were never solved. One would think the FBI would have investigated Sunnydale or something. No one ever did, though. It's as if no one outside the city limit even knew we were there.
Well, we're not there any longer, that much is for sure. I had no trouble finding my way here, but I got the feeling that most other people could have spent their lives searching for the right road and still not gotten anywhere close to the former city limit. Just a hunch I have. I've learned to trust my hunches a long time ago.
Standing where the 'Welcome to Sunnydale' sign used to be, you need a lot of imagination to see even a passing resemblance to the town I grew up in. Most of the buildings were leveled by that last burp of the Hellmouth, leaving only ruins in their place. It's a good thing that deadboy pulled some strings with a few important people he knows and had the town evacuated before it all hit the fan, otherwise I'd be treading through corpses right about now. Or maybe not. The dead did have the tendency not to stay dead in Sunnydale, after all. Probably still do.
So you might be asking yourself, why is that idiot Xander Lavelle Harris going back into the town he almost-died in on a nightly basis for twenty- one long years? Why now, after happily living elsewhere for a decade and a half, does this pea-brain go back to Hellmouth Central? Well, my answer to that question won't raise your opinion of my intelligence, that much is for sure.
I'm here because of a dream.
I've had nightmares for most of my life. Never told anyone about it, or almost no one. Anya knows, of course. Hard not to, seeing as she's been sleeping next to me for quite a while now. I told Willow a long time ago, but only once and never mentioned it again. We never really talked about it.
The nightmares have varied over the years, always dealing with what was the current low in my life. My parents starred for most of the early years, to be replaced by all kinds of monsters and beasties once a certain blonde girl opened my eyes to the darker side of the town I was living in. I had dreams about the future, mostly showing me becoming the same kind of bastard my father was. I had dreams about my friends, condemning me for my uselessness or leaving me as snack food to one demon or another.
They never went away, but I've learned to deal with them a long time ago. One of the good points of constantly dreaming about some sort of really bad and fucked-up version of your life is that your real life seems pretty good in comparison, no matter how hard it might suck at the moment. These last few nights, though, things have been different. A different kind of nightmare took over the movie palace that is my dreams.
It's always the same. That last year in Sunnydale when everything went bad. The year after Buffy died. Damn, it's been sixteen years and it still hurts to think about her. Determined to the bitter end, resolved that she would keep the world safe even if it took beating a god. She did it, she did it all. Saved the world a lot. Then she died, though, and things were never the same afterwards.
We were all too busy with our own grief to see how it affected the one member of our group we always saw as the most level-headed among us. Willow, my best friend as far back as I can remember. She never got over losing Buffy. She blamed herself and was resolved to find a way to make it better.
It started innocently enough. She rebuilt the Buffybot to keep up the illusion that the Slayer was still in town. To keep the demons in check. Okay, we could all live with that. But Willow wanted to extend that little ploy from the demons to the normal people, wanted to let the whole world think Buffy was still alive. Thank God we dissuaded her from that notion. Thinking about the Buffybot trying to behave like Buffy in front of normal people is giving me nightmares of an altogether different sort.
None of us knew that she was planning to do much more than that, though. None of us except Tara, that is. Willow did not think she could do it alone, so she tried to get Tara to help her. Help her do the unthinkable, help her do something that went against all laws of nature, man, and God.
She wanted to raise Buffy from the dead.
Now don't get me wrong. I would have been ecstatic to have Buffy back, but even back then I knew enough about magic and the supernatural to realize that it would be a really, really bad idea to try something this major. Tara thought the same way and tried to dissuade Willow. Only she would not be dissuaded this time and when Tara threatened to expose her plan to the rest of us, especially Giles, Willow did something else none of us would ever have thought her capable of.
She used a spell on Tara and wiped her memory of the whole thing. The planned resurrection, the fight, everything. Used magic to change her lover's mind to her own design. I have a hard time using the word 'rape' in the same sentence as the name of my best friend, but that was exactly what Willow did to Tara.
And then she went ahead and tried to raise Buffy on her own. The only problem was that the thing that crawled out of Buffy's grave that night was something that ... even today I can't describe it. It was dead, but it walked. It looked a bit like Buffy, but none of us would ever have mistaken it for her. It even retained enough of Buffy's memories to know about and come looking for us, but it wasn't her. Not even close.
That thing would have killed us all that night if not for Spike. Yeah, Spike, the fangless wonder. Almost makes me feel bad for treating him like shit for those two years he was among us with that chip in his head. Of course then I remember how many people he killed in his long existence and I regain something of a perspective on the saintliness of William the Bloody, but it does not change the facts. He saved all our butts that night and paid for it with his own. The thing ripped his heart out even as he beheaded it.
The shock of seeing all that broke the spell and Tara remembered everything. God, I never would have thought her capable of that kind of fury. For a moment back then I thought she would kill Willow with her bare hands. Instead she left town and ... I think she took someone with her, but I can't remember. Well, can't have been that important.
With Spike dead, Tara gone, and Giles having moved back to England only a few days before that terrible night, there were only three of us left. Willow, Anya, and me. And despite everything that had happened I was too blind to see what was happening to my best friend. Yeah, I was angry with her, but I was too blind to see that the guilt she displaced was not because of the things she had done. No, she only felt guilty for having failed, for having made a mess of things. She was determined to try again, determined to make everything better. And not hesitant to barrel right over everyone who did not see things her way.
To this day I do not know how much of my blindness that year was the result of some sort of spell Willow might have cast over me. I honestly don't know which way I'd prefer it: My best friend manipulating me or me having been so blind all on my own. Maybe it's better that I'll never know.
Finally even I could no longer ignore all the things Willow was doing and, not having the heart to fight with her about it, I took my brand-spankin' new wife Anya and left town. I just turned tail and ran out on my best friend while she was consumed by the darkness. Yeah, I know that sounds like something out of a George Lucas movie, but that is exactly what happened. Willow fell to the dark side, too fascinated with everything she could do with her fancy magical powers to realize what it was doing to her. I don't know whether she ever saw how wrong it was to manipulate Tara like that, to try and twist nature that way.
And it all ended with this. A destroyed town, the ruins hidden behind a perpetual curtain of dust. None of us know exactly what happened here the day Sunnydale died. Cordy got a vision about it and saw Willow undertaking some kind of ritual. Deadboy somehow convinced the feds to evacuate the place. A few hours later Sunnydale was gone.
I never went back here, but I know deadboy and a few of his guys did. They looked for survivors and wanted to make sure that nothing extra-evil had slipped out of the Hellmouth. They found nothing, though. More than that, apparently the Hellmouth exudes a lot less of the demonic mojo now than it did back when I called this place home. Whatever Willow did seems to have drained the thing but good.
I still don't know whether or not Willow died in this place.
That's why I'm here. I guess it's long overdue, fifteen years overdue. I didn't want to come back because I didn't want to see what my best friend had done, the devastation she had wrought. Somehow, as long as I didn't see it with my own eyes, I could still somehow keep Willow and the catastrophe that happened here separate. In my mind she is still the girl I knew. Babbling, innocent, so incredibly shy and cute.
Then the dreams started. I keep seeing her here, over and over again. I saw what she did to Tara, I saw how she raised that thing from Buffy's grave, I think I even saw that damn ritual she did that doomed this town, even though I can't possibly know anything about it. And I also think ... no, I know ... that I have to be here. Something survived here, something is unfinished. The Hellmouth is still here, no matter how quiet it has become. No doubt a lot of the monsters survived underground.
And maybe ... maybe my best friend is still alive here somewhere.
So here I am, standing on the former Sunnydale city limit, trying to work up the nerve to dive into that perpetual dust storm and look for ... something. Well, I might be completely insane and stupid, but at least I've got a little help. Long gone are the days when we took on the Sunnydale nights with nothing but stakes and bad puns. These days we use the latest in high-tech to wipe out the beasties.
Things like the scanning array deadboy's people put up around the city limit, just in case anything ever tries to sneak out of here. The latest in motion and infrared detectors, coupled with magical runes that will pick up those things that can fool the eye of the camera. All linked up to a handy satellite up in orbit, one that keeps the computer in my car up to date about everything that's moving inside Sunnydale. Or at least everything within the first mile or so; beyond that they can't see much, either.
My car, a nice little all-terrain number that could drive on the surface of the moon (or so says the ad) is loaded with everything one might need to take care of just about every demon we ever came across. All the best toys you can buy with a really big, blood-stained portfolio and about three centuries of cumulative interest. Say what you want about deadboy's evil alter ego, but the bastard was a shrewd investor.
Okay, Harris, you've been standing here long enough. Time to get back in the car and do it, otherwise you might as well turn around right now and head back home. Not the worst idea in the world, that. Ah, what the hell. I climb back in and hit the gas pedal, causing the hummer to jump right into the dust storm. Visibility drops like a stone and I'm profoundly thankful for the various computer screens in front of me.
Who needs eyes when you got high-tech?
A lot of things are still moving inside what was once Sunnydale. About half a mile to my left the scanners pick up a large group of what are probably Mantises. Natalie French's little bastard children. I guess we missed a sack of her eggs when we cleaned out her basement and hacked her into tiny little pieces all these many years ago. God, were we young then. Giles theorized that they hatched when the Hellmouth erupted. Nothing like a good dose of hellish energy to make up for not having a giant Praying Mantis to incubate those little babies.
Several vampires are moving among the ruins as well. Easy to identify those. Motion trackers pick them up, infrared doesn't. It's a lot harder with most other forms of demons. Then there are the zombies. They don't emit a lot of heat, either, and don't move a lot unless there is something (make that someone) to feed on close by. From what deadboy told me it seems that most of the cemeteries emptied out when Willow pulled her ritual. These days the dead of Sunnydale are mostly standing around doing nothing, happily rotting away, waiting for some fresh meat to come into range. Not a lot of that to be found here, of course.
I drive down Rivelo and some part of my brain insists on muttering "fresh meat on wheels anyone?" over and over again.
Soon the streets are so cluttered with debris and ruins that I have to leave the car behind. I really don't want to be here without a solid, bullet-proof box of metal all around me, but I guess I don't have much of a choice. At least I know that I'm not the only living human being around here. I'm out of range of the perimeter scanners, but the little buggers I have in my car have picked up quite a few heat signatures. Humans, or maybe some sort of demon species that can pass really well. What would humans be doing in here? Don't tell me they got some sort of weird dreams, too.
Getting out of the car makes me feel really, really bad. Okay, so I'm wearing a suit that masks my heat signature and prevents any sort of scent from leaking out, but somehow that does not make me feel all that safe. I'm packing enough firepower to blow a regiment of vampires to bits. Nope, not feeling safe with that, either. Looks like I have to go through this without feeling safe. Lucky me.
There are barely any recognizable landmarks around and the dust storm reduces visibility to about five meters in all directions. Still, I know exactly where I'm heading. When I saw Willow perform that damn ritual in my dreams I also saw where she did it. That lovely place I was certain I wasn't going to get out of alive. Looks like I'm going to give it another shot at killing me.
Sunnydale High. What's left of it.
Never knew ruins were so damn popular. I can see quite a few zombies and vampires sniffing around, even a Mantis or two, but most of the figures I see seem to be one hundred percent human. Or as human as people who like to wear black robes and spend their free time at Hellmouths can be. What are they all doing here? What's with the unified dress code? Why haven't they been eaten yet?
Okay, there's but one way to find out, isn't there? Let's see if I can get my hands on one of those nifty black robes. Have I mentioned that I have to be completely fucking crazy to be back in Sunnydale? Yeah, thought so
TO BE CONTINUED
