Chosen One: A Swiftly Falling Darkness
chapter three: for whom the fight chooses
Gunn had seen bad stuff before.
He'd seen the kind of shit that left a man with screaming nightmares. People he knew dead or vamped, limbs gone, bodies scarred, eyes hollow and haunted.
Somehow, even knowing that this girl was a Slayer - born to the fight, called to the fight - didn't make it better. It made it worse.
Gunn and his people had made the decision to join the fight against the demons. Of course, the alternative to fighting was, 'Wait for the vamps to come get you.' Not Gunn's choice.
He'd been on the streets for years, fighting, toughing it out, learning what he needed to learn, growing where he needed to grow. He'd seen friends die. Some of them, like Alanna, he'd had to kill the second time himself.
He couldn't help thinking this girl hadn't chosen the fight. The fight had chosen her.
The fight had killed her.
Gunn tried to listen to the conversation between Wes and the morgue attendant. But his attention kept being drawn to the girl lying on the tray between them.
She was of African-American descent, built slim and lean, and with an innocence about her that was at odds with the brutality visited on her flesh. If Gunn squinted at the face a little, she looked like Alanna.
He wondered if another man somewhere would look down at his sister's dead face and feel like some bastard had ripped his heart out. Gunn hoped not. For one bitter second, he hoped the girl had been alone in the world. He wouldn't wish that kind of regret on any man.
"We've only got one girl with these kinds of wounds. Your friend's not any of these other Jane Does?"
"No. Although this one matches the descriptions of other girls gone missing in other cities around the world."
"Around the world?" The morgue attendant looked up from her clipboard. Wesley didn't offer an explanation and the woman looked back down again. "Well, if she's not here, then we haven't found her yet."
"I'd prefer it if you didn't find her at all," Wesley said dryly, and the woman paused as she realised what she'd implied.
"Sorry." The apology was sincere, if glib. "You say this girl was a colleague of hers?"
Wesley glanced at Gunn. "We have reason to think so."
Her mouth twisted, "We get some sick fucks in this city. Probably one of those religious freaks, trying to make a point." She began covering the dead girl over, preparing her to go back into the cool cubicle from which she'd been pulled. "The LAPD's detective section is running an inquiry into these deaths. You can report your missing friend, but the city's huge, and if she's just missing..."
"Thank you. We'd like to take a copy of the autopsy report away with us," Wes said.
The woman shook her head as she pushed the corpse of the unknown girl back into it's little cubicle, "No can do, Mister. Autopsies only get released to the police, the DA, or appropriate federal organisations. You're not any of those."
Wes glanced at Gunn who shook his head, just before the woman turned to look at him, suspiciously. He gave her his look most calculated not to raise her hackles.
"Very well then," the Englishman said, briskly. "We will take up no more of your time. Thank you for your assistance."
"Yeah, whatever."
They passed through the sterile grey-green halls of the city morgue, two tall men in dark business suits, following the kinks and corners of the corridor with matching steps.
For a moment, Gunn felt like he should have sunglasses and one of those memory-flash things. He hummed, 'Here come the Men in Black,' and Wes gave him a sharp look.
"Funny."
"Hey, I'll never be Will Smith, but I have my moments."
"Maybe a few less of them would make us more...hmm...appreciative?"
Gunn glared, but without any venom. "Why'd you want the autopsy anyway?"
The clean-cut face darkened like a thundercloud. "It would make a useful record of what had been done to those girls."
"For what?"
Wes looked at him like he'd just grown red horns and green skin. "For determining exactly what rite the thing that tortured those girls was trying to complete. And whether it succeeded."
"So you don't think this was just for fun?"
"It has a very definite ritualistic feel to it." Wes said. "And since they're finding girls like this in Europe as well, that points to a very complex spell. Possibly the opening of some kind of gateway or portal... Raising hell itself, perhaps."
"But you don't know."
"That's why I need a record of what was done to the girls." The coldness in Wes' voice was unmarked, almost as if the plight of those girls hadn't touched him. Hell, maybe they hadn't.
Gunn had once thought he had Wesley Wyndham-Pryce pegged. Whether he was thinking, translating, fighting, or pontificating, Wes was a pretty straightforwards guy. He believed in right and wrong, good and evil, he'd never trod the thorny path of questionable morality. And he had a crush on Fred, who was Gunn's gal, but that was okay. Fred had Gunn wrapped around her little Texan finger; it wasn't much surprise that English should be in the same boat. They were buddies, after all.
One prophecy and a kidnapping changed everything. The guy who came back to Angel Investigations was darker, more focused, deadly.
Before Wes got his throat slit by Justine, Gunn figured he could take Wes easy. Wes fought by the book, for all his knowledge. Gunn fought dirty, with the experience of the street.
Now, Gunn doubted he'd win. Now, Wes would fight dirty, too - and he'd have more tricks up his sleeve than just that sword of his.
Add to that the whole business with Angelus and Fred and the revelations about Wes's feelings for Fred and his 'fuck-buddy' relationship with Lilah Morgan...
These days, Gunn found himself thinking of Wes as more complex than all the lawyer shit Gunn was learning about.
Gunn shook his head to himself as he pushed open the doors that led out of the morgue and into the city street.
They emerged into bright daylight, blinking as their eyes adjusted to the lighting change. As a result, they were a few steps out of the morgue before Gunn spotted the real men in black clustered around Wesley's SUV. They didn't look happy. "Shit."
They were big. They were bulky. They didn't look like the kind of guys you'd sit down with for a beer and a tale-swap. These guys probably put the 'men' in 'menacing.'
"Uh-oh. This is not good."
"You don't say," Wes said, as one of the men spotted them and yelled something to his friends.
Guns were pulled from holsters inside jackets. Gunn yanked open the door to the morgue and dived back inside, Wes a split-second behind him.
Just in time.
The first bullets smacked into the wall beside the door, spitting tiny brick chips like shrapnel. The next lot thudded into the thick wood of the door and embedded themselves into the plaster of the inside walls.
Wes yanked the door closed behind him, and slammed the locks closed. He flinched at the sharp thuds of the bullets hitting the other side of the door, mere inches from his head.
"It won't hold them long."
Gunn noticed that they didn't entertain the idea that those men were anything but after them. Way scary when he was getting used to this kind of stuff. "Then we better find another exit to this place."
They jogged back into the morgue, Gunn leading the way. Behind them, they could hear the door taking a battering under the shoulders and arms of the men.
"So, Gunn," Wes said as they ran to the front desk. His hands were pulling at the tie around his throat, tugging it free as he stuffed it in his pocket and yanked at the neck of his shirt. "Who've you offended now?"
Gunn didn't respond to the jibe. He didn't have time. The morgue attendant had just come in, intrigued by the sound of gunshots out in the street. She gaped at them as Gunn demanded, "Are there any other ways out of this building?"
"Wh...? Didn't you just leave?"
"Ways out?"
"I... There's no other way out for the public..."
"The bodies are delivered somehow," Wes said. "Where's your delivery door?"
Gunn nearly winced at the mention of the corpses as 'deliveries' but didn't say anything. Yet.
She had the gall to look outraged. "Sir, you can't go out that way..."
"We seem to have acquired people who are after us with a grudge and guns. Either we leave that way, or we won't be leaving at all," Wes snapped. "Delivery exit?"
On cue, they heard the crash of the door being battered in. Gunn leaned in towards the shocked woman. "Lady, do you wanna study the dead, or do you wanna be dead? Because I get the feeling these guys aren't gonna ask first, shoot later."
The woman just stood there, opening and shutting her mouth like a fish. They were running out of time.
Wesley jerked his head at the doors leading back into the morgue and Gunn followed him, grabbing the arm of the attendance as he passed. She was an idiot, but that didn't mean she deserved to die.
The girls hadn't deserved to die either.
He shook the thought away as the woman yanked her arm out of his grip and ran off. Gunn let her go. The silly bint was probably calling the police. For all the good it would do.
Their footsteps slapped against the cement floor, echoing through the complex. There was no way they were moving with stealth. They didn't need to. They just needed a way out.
And Wes was leading the way without any idea of where they were going.
Not a comforting thought.
"Got anything?" He yelled at Wes as they passed door after door.
"Not this one, not this one..."
Gunn could hear their pursuers approaching. "Can we work out which one it is and get the hell out of here?"
"Not this one..." The Englishman paused, and pushed through a set of double doors and out into a loading bay. "This one!"
A few seconds later, they realised they weren't any better off. The garage door was shut and would take too long to open. The access door beside it was locked from the inside, needing a key.
"Dead end," Gunn said in disgust. "Good navigating, Wes."
Wesley had spun away from the door the minute he'd realised the access door was locked. He was now back across the room, kneeling on the floor of the docking bay over to the side. He pointed down to a circular metal plate as Gunn came towards him. "We can access the sewers via the manhole."
"The sewers?" Gunn was not pleased. "Wes, do you know how much this suit cost?"
Wes yanked the manhole cover up with a noisy clatter. He reached over and grabbed some things from a nearby crate, and looked over at his friend. "How much is your life worth?" The eyebrows arched in that maddening way that he had, then he slipped into the sewer opening below.
When he put it that way...
Gunn jumped.
He landed with a splash in ankle deep water and winced. There went the shoes. He lifted one foot and grimaced before hearing the sound of the door into the garage slamming open in the room above.
The men in black were continuing the chase.
The sewer was dark and the stench was completely foul. Gunn squinted in the direction in which he could hear Wes' footsteps. After a moment, the outline of a slim man appeared, darker against the darkness. They were heading further into the sewer network.
Gunn jogged after Wes, trying to stay as much out of the water as possible.
"So back to the firm?" He asked keeping his voice low.
"Yes."
Gunn glanced around the echoing spaces and tried not to breathe too much through his nose. "I'm hoping you know the way, because I'm a little lost here." He kept his voice low to stop the echoes travelling.
Wes glanced over his shoulder at Gunn and held out something. Gunn took it, felt the cool, smooth lines of a small crowbar in his hand. "Keep your guard up. The morgue's at the corner of West 57th and Rover. There used to be a cavern that was home to a nest of vampires nearby..."
Good news was always a bonus. "And the positive?"
Somewhere behind them, there was the sound of loud splashes, reverberating through the tunnels. They heard voices complaining and calling orders back and forth. The words were lost in the echoes, but the tone was clear.
They were still being hunted.
The two men stepped out of the main pipe and into one of the side ones, moving as quietly as they could and as swiftly as they dared. After a few turns, Wes spoke, keeping his voice low. "The vamp nest was cleared out a couple of years ago, if I recall correctly. However, the space they occupied was subsequently taken up by a family of Kelenishkov demons."
"Good guys or bad?"
"Usually bad, although if they decide they like you early on, they may adopt you."
"Just what I always wanted," Gunn muttered.
Wes glanced over his shoulder with a faint smile, "We could see about getting you a clan for your birthday. Only if you're good of course."
Gunn peered ahead into the gloomy darkness and listened for footsteps behind and before them. "I think I'll settle for an X-Box."
A warbling roar echoed through the tunnels ahead, ringing in their ears. They both froze. Then Wes quipped, "You may get your Kelenishkov demon, whether you want one or not."
"You know, Wes, you're just too good to me."
"I try."
Something was moving in the tunnel ahead of them, noisy and sure of itself. "So, how do we beat these Kelenishkov demons?"
"We don't. They're nearly indestructible, which is why these ones have been here for so long. They need to be banished to their own dimension."
Gunn was this close to hitting Wes with the crowbar out of sheer annoyance with the Englishman. "Okay, so how do we disable these Kelenishkov demons enough to make our getaway?"
"Go for behind their knees," Wes told him, probably giving him an irritated glance because of the steady stream of conversation. "They're fairly sensitive there."
"Behind the knees?" Gunn asked in disbelief.
"How often do you get hit there?" Gunn could hear the smile, even if it was too dark to see his friend's face.
They could hear the thing getting closer. It snuffled, rather like a...like a really big, really ugly, knobbled creature with a severe breathing problem.
"Had an idea, Wes. This is going to make noise, right?"
"Probably."
"Noise will bring the men in black on our tails."
"Probably."
"Why don't we mix the men in black with guns who want to kill us up with the...the demons we're on our way to fight? Two enemies, one stone; Gunn and Wes make a smooth getaway."
Wes was about to protest, then the plan seeped into his brain properly. "That's a good idea," the smile that grew on his face was sly. "This tunnel is the way out of here. If you can, follow me out. If we get separated, keep taking the right-hand openings until you reach one of the ladders leading up to the street. We'll meet back at the firm."
"Last one back buys the drinks."
"Of course."
Then the Kelenishkov waded into view. Kelenishkovs, plural.
Gunn had guessed right. The demons were really big, really ugly, knobbled creatures. Really big creatures with...with three legs, each facing outwards. Above the legs rose a humanoid torso with three vicious-looking arms. And the head was definitely nothing to write home about.
"You're sure it's behind the knees?"
"Quite."
"I hope you're right."
"When am I not?"
"Does it look like I have time to answer that question?"
Wes laughed and then the demons were on them.
Within a second or two, the tunnel was filled with nothing but the weird roar of the demons and the noisy sound of swinging limbs hitting the metal sides of the tunnel. Within the first couple of seconds, Gunn realised the crowbar wasn't much good against the knobbled 'skin' of the demons. However, it stopped some of the easier swings, which gave Gunn enough time to whack them behind the knee.
He whirled and struck out at a limb causing the demon to howl in fury. He dodged a blow he saw out of the corner of his eye, and crouched down to hook the crowbar in behind the knee. The creature howled in pain as the sharp end of the weapon jabbed deep into the soft flesh there.
Before it could swing at him again, Gunn ducked under the heavy swing of another demon, catching sight of Wes smacking away with his crowbar. Gunn's own fighting style was utilitarian - he did exactly what he had to and no more. Wes' style was a lot more graceful, even in the desperation of a cramped, overrun fight like this one. Considering the technique, Wes should have gotten his ass kicked. Somehow he didn't.
Gunn shook his head and battered another Kelenishkov, which just battered him right back.
There were about a dozen of the demons, which was bad. The upside was that they didn't seem like particularly vicious fighters. Sure, they were probably indestructible, but they were mostly just big and clumsy, which worked in the guys' favour as long as they could keep hitting them in what was probably the demon equivalent of the balls.
Another demon came for him, and Gunn leaped past it and hooked the crowbar under the knee joint as he went. At that point, he was facing the way they'd come. So he saw the men who'd been coming after them as they appeared in the mouth of the tunnel.
"Wes!" Another demon, another jab, another howl of fury. A burst of loud, sharp, hard noises that snapped through the air, assaulting his senses.
Gunn figured he was about three quarters of the way through the melee. He'd left more than a few of the demons behind as he and Wes stabbed their way through the pack - or whatever these things called themselves when there were several of them.
He was almost feeling optimistic about their chances of getting through, in spite of all the howling that seemed to be going on. The demons had upped the intensity until Gunn's brain felt like it was vibrating in his skull.
Then he felt a fiery pain in his left leg.
The meaning of the short, sharp noises penetrated his brain as the bullet penetrated flesh and muscle. It tore through him with a cry that was echoed from his own mouth. He swung the crowbar at the nearest demon, but his leg was screaming for relief from the pressure and pain, and his balance was gone.
He was going down.
"Gunn!"
A moment later, Wes was under his arm, pulling him up, striking out at another demon and hauling Gunn along with him.
Some of the demons they'd disabled before were beginning to assess the threat of the men in black. More than one had begun to lumbering towards them. In fact, as Gunn turned to glance over his shoulder while Wes hit out at another one trying to attach them, most of the Kelenishkov seemed to have decided that Wes and Gunn were more trouble than they were worth.
At least it meant the gunfire had stopped.
"Gotta get out of here," Gunn muttered as he swung at a demon who was blocking their passage down the sewer tunnel. "Nearest exit?"
Wes thrust the crowbar towards the knee of another demon. The last one, Gunn saw with relief. Beyond him, the tunnel was clear. "We keep going the way we are." The demon moved out of the way, and swiped at them as Wes blocked it. It sidled off a bit, glanced down the tunnel where his fellows had gone, looked back at them and glared.
Then it shambled off in the direction of the other fight, scuttling around, keeping a wary eye on them until it judged them out of range. And it was gone.
They had clear passage. Maybe not safe, but clear. For the moment.
Wes was already pulling them towards the next tunnel. Gunn hop-stumbled alongside him, thankful for the shoulder under his arm.
They limped to the next turn, then the next, then the next.
Nothing pursued them, but Gunn kept a firm grip on his crowbar anyway.
When they were far enough away that there was only the sound of their footsteps and the drip and drizzle of water, they stopped and Gunn propped himself up on one leg against the tunnel wall while Wes crouched down to check the wound. "We need to bind this up. I think the bullet's still in there."
"Great. Souvenir." He wasn't up to words right now, but it was almost comforting to hear Wes talking.
"Good thing the artery's not hit," Wes put the crowbar down on the ground and fished around in his pocket before pulling out his tie and wrapping it around the wound while Gunn gritted his teeth against the splintering fire that crawled over his thigh. "You owe me for this tie," Wes added, glancing up.
Gunn just nodded, too busy fending off the pain to reply. He'd happily owe Wes a whole bar full of drinks for this. Although, knowing English, it would only take four to lay him out. He hissed as Wes tied the impromptu bandage tight and stood up. "How's that?"
Pain still cascaded through his leg, but the pressure over the wound was helping. Just a bit. "I'll live."
Wes nodded, and crouched back down to pick up his crowbar before he came to stand alongside Gunn. "Let's go."
As Gunn hung his arm over his friend, it struck him that they made an incongruous pair for these dewers, all dressed up in business suits, jackets still on, shirts damp with sweat and the sewer water. After that last fight, he was feeling kinda feverish.
So when Wes spoke, it took him a moment to process the words. "That was a good idea of yours."
Gunn was having trouble concentrating. "Getting shot?"
"Setting the demons on our would-be assailants." Wes glanced at him, "You okay?"
His breath hissed between his teeth. "A little dizzy. Feeling kinda feverish. But we'll keep going." It wasn't like they had a choice.
"Okay."
They kept going.
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