A/N: BtVS belongs to Joss Whedon. Terminator belongs to James Cameron.

Time lines have been slightly altered for the purposes of this fic.


Two years.

Two years since the fall of Sunnydale. Two years since the destruction of the Hellmouth and the deaths of Anya, Spike, Adelaide, Amanda, Fernanda, Grace, Jana, Jeanette, Kathrin, Mariona, Marzena, Mica, Nanami, Nichole, Paquita, Sunan, Teresa, and Zevonia. Two years to recover from the battle against the First. Two years of gathering Slayers, of rebuilding the Watcher's Council, of dealing with the fact there is no longer a Chosen One but a Chosen Many. Two years of building across the world, of getting slayers into every country, of preparing to fight any supernatural threat that might arise, of compiling records of every prophecy that might give an indication of what was going to happen.

One year.

One year since the collapse of Wolfram and Hart,both metaphorically and literally. One year since Angel, Wesley, Gunn, Spike and Illyria fought the Circle of the Black Thorn, massively reducing the Senior Partners power in this dimension and getting nearly all of them killed in the process, only Illyria surviving. One year free of the corrupting influence of the Senior Partners in the region and weakening their efforts elsewhere. One year of bringing order to a troubled supernatural world.

It had been a long year, after the First Evil and the Senior Partners, what new big bad would appear for 2005's apocalypse season? But May came and passed, and nothing especially bad occurred, no massive army requiring a multitude of Slayers, Watchers and others. Hope flared, that now there weren't going to be any more large threats of the scale faced previously. But then it all changed.

One hour.

One hour since nuclear launch sequences started, since computers stopped responding, since all communications failed. One hour since the apocalypse started, and this was one that nobody saw coming, one that the Council were utterly unprepared for.

Trapped now in this steel bunker with a few of the National Guard, desperately wondering how anyone else is doing, if they've survived what's happened. It was meant to be a quick trip to Montana to deal with an uprising of Engril demons but instead it turns out to be the end of the world, but this one through nukes not magic. London would be gone, the headquarters of the Council, the new construction having been just completed. New York, Los Angeles, Beijing, Moscow, Paris...they would all have been hit as well, so many lost. Internet down, satellites down, phone lines down, cell network down; no easy way to check who remains.

Nearby the radio operator is trying to see if there are any other survivors, hoping they aren't alone, that this isn't the last refuge of humanity, that there are others out there.

"Hello? Hello? Can somebody hear me? This is Montana Civil Defense. Is there anybody there?"

There was a pause, and then a voice answered.

"This is John Connor at Crystal Peak."

Maybe, just maybe, there was hope.