1With Buffy and Faith on their tail, Devlin and Elektra flee into the arms of an old friend.

"I think you'll be happy to know I didn't kill anyone last night," his sister tells him when they meet underneath the train station. "Gawd, I can't believe I actually said that to another vampire. Is he dead?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now we can go somewhere to eat. Like Marseille."

"Why Marseille?"

"Why not? It's close to Rome, but not too close. And on the water if we want to catch a ship."

"Marseille it is."

"Now what's the present you got for me?"

Dev takes off his cape and the backpack underneath. "An invisibility cloak."

"First of all, capes are so two centuries ago. And invisibility cloaks are geeky Harry Potter-esque. Unless they're real. Are they real?"

"Better."

In the backpack was the attire of the two women Devlin had killed the night before. With it, the two vampires could be covered head-to-toe, with only a narrow slit for their eyes exposing them. This protected them from the sun, but more important, it hid the identity of London's two most wanted and most recognizable fugitives. Hopefully, not too many people would look closely enough to see that one of the "Arab women" had blue eyes. He made Elektra remove her eye makeup as well as her nail polish, which helped. Devlin was short and thin, so he could pull it off, looking under the covering like a moderately tall woman. Besides, it was rude to stare, especially at women in foreign costume. One did not want to seem bigoted or ignorant. Devlin schooled Elektra in the proper accent, and even taught her a few Arabic phrases to throw around in order to seem more authentic. No detail was ever too minor for his attention. She bought two tickets in broken English, looking down the whole time so the teller didn't get a good look at her eyes, and they boarded the train without incident. Fortunately, much of the ride to Paris was underground. When above ground, they looked away from the window, so the sun struck the covered backs and sides of their heads. Devlin, ever the protector, took the window seat.

When they arrived and detrained in Paris, Devlin realized there was one detail he had been forced to overlook: their luggage. It was too western, like that of some kids backpacking through Europe, as they sort of were. But he trusted that no one would risk ripping the veil off a Muslim woman and reveal their identities. This proved to be the case. The only strange looks they received in the station on their way to the train to Marseille were from actual Arabs who quickly realized these two were not their own kind. But they chose not to act upon their suspicions.

Even though Buffy barely knew Paul Robson, his death hit her personally. It happened on her watch, and was an insult to her prestige. She had come to London to eliminate Devlin. But not only had he escaped her, he leveled a devastating counterattack. She could tell that Brianne and Chelsea were wavering without their Watcher. They didn't seem disposed to taking orders from their Commander-in-Chief since they did not know, and had never fought alongside, her. Now, with London's vampires having either fled or been slain, they would not have that chance. Buffy and Faith had to go where Devlin went. But to do that, they had to find out.

One of the thousands of surveillance cameras in the city had caught Devlin's quadruple murder, but that was not the video Buffy wanted to see. She knew he had done what he came to London to do, and would now flee, especially since she was there. Cars were problematic: blocking the sunlight would attract attention, and the police could always chase them down before dark. Planes were a better option, but getting to the airport posed the car problem, and they'd probably be recognized and caught on the tarmac by alert police. That left trains. But this created two questions for Buffy: how would they disguise their identities, and how would they cover up from the sun? It then occurred to her how they could do both.

"Birkenstock. No. Wait. Sorry. Burkha."

"Wouldn't be flattering on you, love," the Scotland Yard detective jokes as he checks surveillance footage.

"They're wearing one. They have to be. To protect from the sun."

"Or they're hiding in the sewers," Faith offers.

"No. It's too risky. They do their business and get out of town. He knows we expect him to hide. That's why he won't. Check for covered women at the train station," she orders the detective, who she has no actual authority over.

"Some freight train," Faith asks, thinking of her own escapes. "What about a boat?"

"Too much of a chance of getting caught."

"What about a plane, B?"

"They'd stand out. Since when do women in burkhas take private jets?"

"So a freight train?"

"No. If I were them I'd want off the island."

"I'm with your partner," the detective says. "Hop a train to another town with an airstrip. Leave at night. They can go in any direction."

"Too easy."

"He's a vamp who shoots people with guns," Faith reminds Buffy. "He likes it easy."

"This is about showing me up. He's gonna leave the island. Today. Check the funnel trains."

"You mean Chunnel," the detective asks.

"Yeah. Whatever. Check the cameras at the train station. Look for two people in burkhas."

"Muslim women here don't wear burkhas," another detective with experience in the immigrant neighborhoods points out.

"Then they'll stand out even more."

"They do wear the hijab. And if they're wearing it, that means they wouldn't travel outside the country without a male escort."

"There you go," Buffy states triumphantly. "You'll know it's them." Buffy phone rings. She answers it. "Giles? Omigod. Omigod. I forgot to call you. I have really bad news. I'm so sorry."

"MI 5 already called."

"I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"Of course it is."

"You can't let it worry you now. You must soldier on."

"And you?" Giles sighs.

"Losing Paul is like losing my right arm."

"I'm so sorry. I should have been there to protect him."

"From what they told me, there probably wasn't much even you could have done."

"I would have stopped it. I would have killed him."

"Or you could have been the one with a bullet in your brain."

"That's a risk I need to take."

"How are Chelsea and Brianne?"

"They're holding up. But I'm worried." Buffy sees Faith talking with them, which both reassures and unnerves her.

The night before, Britain's two senior Slayers, Bonnie and Victoria, battled three vampires who were holed up in Edinburgh Castle. Pitt, a medium-sized vampire with a shock of red hair, decided it was a cool place to make a last stand with his two closest companions. They had fought the Slayers all the way up the tower, enjoying the advantage of the higher ground. Both Slayers were bruised and exhausted. Pitt could take one. And a double-team should do in the other. Pitt stands on the roof of the tower, kicking at Bonnie as she tries to climb the stairs. Bonnie grabs his right leg and pulls him to the ground. She then storms past him and attacks the other male vampire, driving his back into the parapet. A female vampire grabs her from behind and pulls her away, but Bonnie flips her.

Down below, Victoria lands left and right punches to Pitt's face. But he blocks a left cross, knocks her back with a left hook, and rejoins his companions on the roof. Victoria follows right behind. This is just as Pitt wanted. He can kill a Slayer by throwing her off the roof more than one hundred feet to the ground, but the same fall wouldn't kill him. Plus the Slayers were more fatigued. He had wanted to fight the other one, who he can tell is stronger, but Victoria would do for know. They exchange punches, and Victoria blocks his right kick. Pitt circles so he can watch his companions in action over the Slayer's shoulder. Victoria takes advantage of his distraction and knocks Pitt down with a right roundhouse kick.

"Not bad, lass. Shame ah hafta kill ya." He lets her get close then trips her up before bounding to his feet. She repays this by punching him in the groin. "Dirty pool," he groans as he doubles over and she lands a left punch to his back and a right uppercut to his chin. She connects with a straight right kick, a left roundhouse, and goes for the stake. "Naught ye-et," he taunts as he grabs her right arm, spins her around and puts her back against a crenelation. She lands a left hook, but he holds on and forces her two feet to the right, in a space between crenelations where he can push her off. As they struggle, he hears a woman's scream, and knows one of his companions is no more. This motivates him to push harder.

"Aren't you blokes supposed to bite," Victoria taunts, since he's going for an easy kill. Pitt knows this, but doesn't care.

"I'll bite your friend. You I'm no so crazy about. Ya don't haf the look," he insults. She grunts as she finally pushes his away. Just then, he hears another scream. "Ah no! Not the boy!" He spins to avoid Bonnie's stake in the back and pushes her into Victoria. Then he climbs onto the parapet opposite the two Slayers. "Looks like I'll need new friends. Be seeing you." Bonnie rushes over, but he jumps before she can grab him. He laughs all the way until his hard, ungainly landing. Then limps away. Bonnie and Victoria rush down the stairs as fast as their exhausted legs can take them, but know they won't catch him tonight.

Dev and Leks arrive in Marseille a few hours after sunset. Once they are in the clear, they take off their costumes in an empty alley. "Gawd, I don't know how they do it," Leks exclaims. "I was suffocating under that thing. And I don't even breathe," she jokes.

"Wait until you try a burkha. It's disorienting."

"What is it with you and Muslim cross-dressing?"

"You do what you have to ta survive."

"Yeah. Sure. That's it," she kids. "So now what? Who do we eat?"

"First we check in to a nice hotel. I'm hoping the all-points bulletin didn't reach across the Channel. Then we wait."

"Don't like waiting. 'Specially now."

"We kill. So they know where we are."

"That I like. Except for the part about her knowing where we are. What's up with that?"

"We're going to draw them into a trap. First, let me call Interpol. Ah, the irony of being a fugitive murderer chased by another fugitive murderer." Elektra realizes what he has planned.

"The police? Isn't that a cop-out? 'Scuse the pun. And way hypocritical?"

"He stole these tactics from me," Dev angrily replies, surprising his sister. "That's why he had to die."

"That, and he was a Watcher."

"The closest Watcher to the Lead Watcher."

"The Vice-Watcher."

"Yes."

"So you didn't kill him just 'cause he stole your lame tactics."

"No. But it made me enjoy it even more. And they're not lame. They're clever."

"Shooting people and ratting them out isn't clever."

"Yes it is. Otherwise more vampires would do it."

"They don't do it cause it's wack."

"But it works."

"And yet you won't use your guns to kill Slayers."

"Because that's dishonorable."

"Exactly! It may be less dishonorable to shoot a non-Slayer, but it's still dishonorable. Unless they're a soldier."

"Or a cop."

"Cops can be killed easy without guns."

"Not in the daytime. And aren't your stars also 'wack' and cheating?"

"They're a martial arts weapon. Guns aren't."

"They're both missile weapons. They kill at a distance. It's the same basic idea."

"The stars are like the crossbow. It's an equalizer. Guns are too crazy mad powerful. Plus, guns don't impress anyone."

Romania, 1988. Spike and Dru have reunited with their two children for a European tour. Currently, they're scouring the numerous orphanages of this country for the delicious children especially beloved by Drusilla. Devlin, as usual, is listless, much to the consternation of his usually supportive mother.

"I'm sorry. I just don't see the point in feeding." Spike, Dru and Leks stare at Dev in shock. "I mean, in JUST feeding."

"I told you boy, sooner or later someone will attack and we'll get to fight."

"I understand the provocation argument. But it hasn't worked. And we've been here two weeks!"

"People will bloody notice."

"Maybe they have, but they're too weak," Elektra proposes.

"Communism does cut down on initiative," Devlin pontificates. "But what about the soldiers?"

"Maybe no one cares about orphans," Leks continues. "That's why they're orphans, right? Cause no one cared about them to begin with?"

"Perhaps the government's control is weakening," Devlin offers. "Things have been in flux in Eastern Europe since Gorbachev said he wouldn't defend them."

"Stop that," Spike orders. "We're vampires. We don't have to care about bloody politics. It doesn't effect us."

"Silence," Dru commands. "A bird's watching." The other three listen, and can hear chirping. Elektra laughs. It really is just a bird.

"So what," she asks.

"Quiet."

"I don't get it." As oblique as Dru was, her daughter could usually understand her. Dru slaps the impudent girl on the wrist. Leks pouts. Spike comforts her. Dev walks forward and starts whistling back to the bird.

"Here birdie birdie. Here birdie birdie," he jokes. Dev hears the flapping of wings and sees the bird descend in front of him and turn into a beautiful young, dark woman. "Birdie," he adds, his jaw dropped. Spike sees her and rushes forward.

"Yetta!" Dru appears uncomfortable. Dev just stares. Jeta completely ignores him. Spike picks up the happy young woman and hugs her. "It's been fifty bloody years!" Actually, forty four.

"I don't like the coat," she offers, upsetting Spike.

"Why not?"

"You know why. But I love the hair." Spike smiles and picks her up again. When he puts her down, Devlin walks over.

"Hi. I'm Devlin. Spike's son." He holds out his right hand. She turns away and doesn't bother to shake it.

"Oh." She mutters something in German, then catches sight of Elektra, who is trying in vain to find out from Drusilla who this new woman is. She smiles.

"What do you mean I'm not worthy," Dev demands to know as Jeta rushes past him. Even with her bad late-80s hair and clothes, Leks is still stunning. Jeta doesn't usually go for women her own age, but she can instantly tell that Elektra (unlike Devlin) is special.

"You have great power."

"Wait. You're talking to me?" Leks laughs. She assumed Jeta meant Drusilla. "Yeah, right. I'm just a kid."

"Don't kid yourself," Jeta puns. Elektra giggles again.

"You're funny." Up front, Spike breaks into the orphanage, but is only able to kill the adults before Devlin forcible restrains him, angering his father, who reluctantly agrees to wait for the others. Jeta stares into Elektra's big, bright blue eyes with her big, dark brown ones. "Whoa." Leks shudders. "Are you hypnotizing me?" She can already tell Jeta is unlike any vampire she's ever met. Then again, watching her turn from a bird into a person already confirmed that fact.

"I want your power. You want my power. Let's merge."

"Umm, ughh, is that like, umm, code for – "

"I know what's going on," Devlin interrupts. "You're a Gypsy. Or, Romani, as you call yourselves today."

"Sinti," Jeta corrects him.

"And those babies and kids in there are also Gypsies. I mean, Roma. Though they're not Sinti, since the Sinti only lived in Germany," he astutely observes, still not impressing Jeta. Spike laughs at both his son's erudition and Jeta's pretensions.

"You're protecting the babies – from your own kind. What do you have, a soul?" Spike instantly stops laughing. "Please tell me you don't have a bloody soul."

"Don't need a soul."

"Oh thank god," he sighs with relief.

"But those children are also your own kind," Devlin points out, understanding the dual loyalties Spike cannot. After all, he doesn't make it his mission to protect Englishmen. "That's very fascinating. Maybe we could talk about – "

"So how do you know my dad," Elektra asks. Jeta kept staring at her the whole time Devlin was talking.

"I used to be his. Are you his?"

"Actually I'm, well, mummy fed me."

"You have her power."

"Wait. You mean do we – ? Oh. Sometimes. When mummy allows it. Did you and my dad – ?"

"You're the Dark Angel. The Schwarzengel. The tormenter of the German people."

"You're young. Less than twenty years," Jeta says to Leks, still ignoring Dev.

"You were made at the death camps, under the watchful eye of Mengele," Dev says in German in increasing desperation. Jeta doesn't bother to correct him. Though deadlier than the smaller death camps, Auschwitz was technically a concentration camp. And while Joseph Mengele allowed Ivan to have Jeta (there were plenty of other Gypsies to experiment on), he assumed the vampire was going to eat her, like he did nearly all of the other young women he was given. ("Why waste the gas," the sadistic doctor joked.) Devlin was simply repeating the mythology that had already sprouted up about the still-young vampire. He spots the tattooed numbers on her slender-yet-muscular arms, which reminded him in their beauty of his beloved mother's.

"I'm seventeen," Leks responds to Jeta's query. "But twelve in vampire years. How old are you? Who's your sire?" Coming from a good family, Elektra was very conscious of blood lines and lineage. It was the one part of vampire history she cared about more than her brother.

"Age matters not for you," Jeta replies cryptically, sounding a bit like Dru.

"So, do you, umm, also know my mom?"

"We've met," Jeta says with a smirk. Drusilla snarls. She was hoping never to see Jeta again, and is disappointed at the attention her children are lavishing upon the bisexual Gypsy. Elektra is acting worrisomely naive in her opinion. Devlin says in German that it is ironic how Jeta was renowned for killing German children yet is protecting Romani children, yet Jeta still doesn't so much as look in his direction.

"So if the kiddie farm is off-limits, why don't we go somewhere else to eat," the hungry Spike proposes.

"So where do we go to eat around here," Elektra asks the two male and one female vampire they meet in Marseilles.

"The hospital is guarded," one of the men, the only one of the three to speak English, replies.

"You eat at hospitals," Elektra scornfully asks, knowing how scavenger-like and therefore lowly such behavior is.

"They have to be careful with Slayers around," Devlin points out. "How many Slayers," he asks in broken French.

"One," the six foot-tall beauty answers in her native tongue.

"You see her," Dev asks back. "I kill two Slayers," he adds, trying to impress her with his prowess.

"I know," she replies with a coquettish glance. His cold heart melts.

"There are others who kill us," the man who speaks English points out.

"Local gangs," Devlin asks.

"Oui."

"I say we fight 'em all," Elektra brashly proposes. "Are there other vampires around here?"

"Not many."

"Any outsiders?"

"Perhaps." Elektra smiles.

"Is there something you're not telling me," Devlin asks his sister.

"There's lotsa things I don't tell ya," she replies.

"About Marseille. Or Massilia as the ancient Greeks who founded the town called it."

"Let's go do something big. Where can we go do something big?"

"There's the beach," the English-speaking male vampire proposes. The other male shakes his head and vehemently objects in French.

"Why you with these guys," Devlin asks the woman in French.

"Safety." She replies.

"Safety just?"

"Oui." He grins.

"Here I am, hiding with my birds in a bloody mine shaft because Devlin needs to attention of the Red Army."

"You once were him," Drusilla curtly points out to Spike, who punches Devlin to the ground.

"What do you have to say for yourself, boy?"

"I thought killing twenty would get their attention. I was wrong. So I killed forty." Spike punches Dev again for his Spike-like impudence.

"With guns! And grenades! What's wrong with you boy? You're my flesh and blood, but do you act like it? No!"

"I have a feud with Soviets. It's a big-time thing. To them I'm famous."

"Well to our kind it's a no-time thing. No one cares about bloody Afghanistan. It's time you woke up from that dream."

"It's not a dream. They hunted me with their best. And I beat them."

"With guns!"

"They had helicopter gunships."

"Why are you going to grow up and take on your family responsibilities? When are you going to stop playing soldier and start playing vampire?"

"I thought I could do both." Spike hits him again.

"This is just like 'The Lost Boys'," Elektra whispers as they watch a group of young people party round a campfire. Leks always thought that the Keifer Sutherland character in that movie was based on Spike. "Everyone else gets one, and I take two. Deal?" The French vampires are happy that they don't have to share a single corpse. And Devlin's never been greedy. So the question's largely rhetorical. "Good. Happy hunting."

The five of them go bumpy and walk towards their intended victims. Elektra, usually astute about such matters, let her hunger blind her to the fact that it was suspicious the six people around the fire were all muscular men with their heads shaved. Devlin was optimistically thinking ahead to his conquest of the Frenchwoman, and therefore also missed the clues. The two male French vampires were too eager to impress the hot American girl who came to their town. Of the five, only the Frenchwoman suspected a trap, but she assumed Devlin knew this and believed the five of them could easily take six humans. The vampire hunters usually didn't travel in posses larger than that. Elektra taps a man on the shoulder.

"Bonjour amigo." He responds by picking up an ax and swinging for her neck. She ducks and kicks him in the chest, knocking the man towards the flames before he is caught and saved by one of his comrades. "Fuck no!" She hears the whir of a crossbow bolt from towards the sea, and grabs it out of the air. A crossbow from the right hits the French vampire who spoke English. "You bastards." Eight more youths descend of them and the vampires are surrounded by overwhelming numbers.

"Oh my God," Devlin says in shock. "You're Arab. They're skinheads. You're working together. Are we really that formidable? I mean, this is like, wow, you must REALLY hate us." He decides to switch to Arabic. "You know he thinks you're a monkey," he says to an Arab man holding a novel weapon: a cricket bat shaved down to a wooden point with steel "teeth" along both sides stick two inches out to tenderize vampire fresh or sever a spinal cord.

"Now might be time for one of your wack weapons," Elektra whispers.

"Patience, sis. You afraid of a fight?"

"Never. But there's only one cute boy left, and I don't want him to die."

"Yeah. I feel the same way about the girl." He switches again to Arabic and raises his voice so the attackers can hear. "Say, when are you going to actually try to kill us?"

The Arabs let out an "Allahu akbar" and charge. The skinheads follow suit. Normally, they turn their weapons on each other. But a recent surge in vampires coming from Paris, where a pair of Slayers are stationed, forced them to briefly put aside vast animosities and fight a common foe.

"I wonder if Jean-Marie Le Pen knows about this," he quips before grabbing the wrists of a machete-wielding Arab and kicking him in the ribs, breaking one. He takes the sword away and beheads the brave fighter, then spins to confront a skinhead with a meat cleaver. He blocks the cleaver with his machete, then slices his abdomen and disembowels him. He knocks another attacker back with a kick to the head and slides down in the sand to trip another up. Meanwhile, two Arabs grab hold of the French male vampire and throw him into the fire. He escapes and tries to reach the water, but not in time.

Elektra leaped out of the shrinking circle of attackers and gave herself some space to use her special weapons. The six skinheads pursue as a team. Elektra hits one in the neck and one in the eye with her stars, and a third embeds itself in a man's forearm. She pulls out another star and prepares to fight. Leks knocks the first man to reach her down with a back flip kick, hammers the second with a leaping roundhouse kick, then ducks the third's sword swing and carves a bloody cross on his chest with the points of the star in her right hand. "What can I say? I'm a vampire with a sense of humor. Does this mean you'll, like, repel me?" The first attacker tries to stab her in the back with his sharpened ax handle, but she spins, grabs him and flips him to the ground with astonishing quickness. The second attacker throws a hatchet at her face. She ducks, and it merely nicks the top of her head. "Hey. Hey," she adds. The ducking allowed her the see that this man had also cut her right calf when she previously kicked him. "My pants!" She leaps over two attackers and pounces on the culprit, ripping open his throat before he can react. She turns round and looks at the other two men with blood dripping down her chin.

Surrounded by five Arabs (the two who incinerated to male French vampire have replaced the two Devlin killed with the sword he's now tossed to the female vampire, who battles the lead Arab with the cricket bat), Devlin pulls out his two guns, which stops them in their tracks. "Remember that scene in 'Indiana Jones'," he asks. Then he grabs the pistols by their barrels. "Too easy." Dev uses the guns' handles to parry swords, stakes and axes, spinning round to confront each foe in rapid succession, kicking and clubbing when he gets the chance. Soon all five are down. He puts one gun away and leaps at the attacker with the ax, grabbing its handle with his right hand and driving the pistol's handle through his skull with the left. Dev quickly gets up and knocks one attacker down with a right roundhouse kick and another with a left hook after breaking his pike in two, clobbering the unfortunate warrior in the jaw with his pistol, breaking the bone. Meanwhile, the man with the modified cricket bat uses it to stake the French woman. "Dammit," Dev yells as he leaps away from two more attackers and towards the slayer. He tries again to deal a mortal blow with the back end of his pistol, but the smart warrior rolls to the left and gets out of the way, tenderizing Devlin's right shoulder in the process with a metal tooth from his weapon.

Elektra eludes two attacks by the uninjured skinheads, then snaps the neck of the fellow she hit in the eye with the star and slits the throat of the man she carved a bloody cross on. Since he's wearing a white t-shirt, his chest resembles the cross of Saint Andrew, though she doesn't realize this, nor would she care, unlike her brother. The remaining duo retreats towards the Arabs, looking to these strange bedfellows for protection against the fiercest vampire they've ever faced. She sets herself upon a quartet of Algerians before they can stake Devlin - who's busy battling their leader and avoiding the meanest cricket bat he's ever seen.

"And I thought it was a gentleman's game," Dev jokes. His sister knocks one attacker down with a forward flip kick, avoids a second with a cartwheel kick that knocks the third down, then goes to knock out the fourth with finger blow to the windpipe. He sees this coming and, rather than attack and try to beat her speed, wisely takes two steps back. His three buddies soon join him in a retreat toward the pair of skinheads. All six give each other funny looks and each realize they actually now depend on their hated enemies for their individual survival. Quickly sensing a double-team, the Algerian leader makes good his escape from Devlin before Elektra can spring the trap. The seven humans now face off against the two vampires, who are illuminated by the fire behind them. The Algerian with the cricket bat says a few words. His four followers readily agree. The two skinheads reluctantly acquiesce to this new boss. The seven of them surround the sibling duo, who now stand back-to-back. Everyone is tired. Dev's right shoulder is badly mauled. One of the Arabs has an extremely painful shattered jaw, causing him to stare with his mouth agape at Elektra, who assumes he merely finds her sexy, which, for the record, he doesn't. The leader attacks Devlin from the right, wisely exploiting his injury. Dev takes three metal teeth in his right ribs, further weakening him. The other four Algerians descend on Elektra. She kicks two the ground but is clubbed and punched down to her knees by the other two. While Devlin is preoccupied with his main attacker, the two skinheads nail him in the knees. Dev rolls on the ground, avoiding the souped-up bat and pulling down the skinheads. But the Arab kicks him in the injured right side of the ribs. Devlin groans and looks upward to see the v-shaped bat raised and its point about to be plunged into his heart. If he grabs it, his hands will be shredded by the teeth along the side.

But just at this moment of truth, the Arab feels someone tugging at his neck. Another vampire? But there is no one behind him. His feet leave the ground, and his head arches back as he struggles for breath. He reaches up, trying to remove the invisible hands from his neck. The skinheads witness this otherworldly sight as they stand up, and are understandably taken aback, assuming Devlin is responsible. But Devlin just looks up, equally stunned. The brave warrior's eyes roll back, and he falls lifeless to the sand, felled by a seemingly invisible enemy. Standing fifty feet behind him is a woman in black.