The usual disclaimers apply. The characters belong to ME, and not to me. Which is quite horrendous because if I owned those characters, I'd do...wonderful things with them.

Britain, 2034...

Soft rustling of papers can be heard in the office. The room is filled with antiquated books and yellowed documents. There is no metallic object in the room; wood is the main look. Modern technology would not dare to exist in this room.

"Bloody hell!" a voice growls, obviously quite upset over something. Rupert Giles stands up from underneath his desk, brushing the dust off his tweed pants. "Where is that blasted pen..." The white-haired British man reaches up and takes off his glasses, cleaning its lenses with his handkrief. He is in his 80s, quite fit and healthy for his age. However, his face is lined, especially around his eyes, as if he has seen many things a person should not have seen. Giles glances around, frowning. He sighs, putting his glasses back on. Giles, you know better than to worry about a pen. You're just trying to distract yourself from what is really important...the meteor.

Giles suddenly frowns, his eyebrows raised. He raises a finger to his chin, rubbing it as he walks over to the bookshelf standing to his left. Giles scans the books, searching for a certain title. "Ah!" Giles reaches for the certain book, pulling it off the shelf. The book's cover is made of leather, its tannish and wrinkled appearance giving away its age. Giles flips through the book's yellowed pages, glancing through. "Meteors...meteors...usually summoned by certain sorcerers...insane people...blast!" Giles slams the book close, disappointed. "Nothing, there are no records of meteors this size being summoned to be found." He sighs heavily as he puts the book back into its home. Can this really be...the end? A mere natural disaster? Oh dear... I suppose everything has to come to an end, eventually. But still...

Worry grips Giles' body, his hands shaking. Damn it! I feel so powerless, unable to stop an...apocalypse. Not even the Slayer can stop it. Earth's last apocalypse... Giles suddenly doubles over, clutching his shoulder. He groans, pain overtaking his body. Within seconds, Giles collapses to the floor, unconscious, his head hitting the wooden floor with a heavy thud.

Willow Rosenberg enters Giles' house, closing the door behind her. "Giles? I'm here..." Silence answers her. Worried, she takes a timid step forward, glancing around. Suddenly, something crashes on the floor upstairs. "Giles?!" Willow exclaims, fear in her voice. She jogs over to the staircase and practically bounds over the steps.

Willow holds up her hand at Giles' office's door, willing it to open. The door flies open, as if opened by magic, which is quite true. Willow steps inside, trying to sense Giles' presence with her mind. A weak groan coming from behind the wooden desk close to the back of the office alerts Willow of Giles' whereabouts. Willow walks around the desk, falling to Giles' side. She places a hand on his forehead, stroking it gently. "Giles...?"

Giles' eyelids flutter open at the sound of his former prodigy's voice. "Willow...hospital..." he forces out, each word exhausting him. Something wet hits his cheek. Willow is crying. Giles smiles gently. Willow always was sensitive, even after all those years, she remains the same Willow he knows, albeit older and more mature now. Willow nods quickly, her silvery-white hair falling into her eyes. Giles studies Willow's features for a moment. After so many years of using magickal, Willow's body has begun to show the magickals' effects. She is painfully thin; a person would think her as anorexic. Yet, she has an appetite of a normal person. Her skin is pale, a ghostly white colour, and stretched tight over her facial bone structure. She has a startling cheekbone definition, the kind those supermodels would be terribly jealous of. Willow's eyes, irises of many colours, swirling with all sorts of colours, are the last things Giles sees before his mind slips into yet another unconsciousness.

Again, criticism and praise, especially praise, are greatly appreciated.