The first thing Angel noticed when he opened the front door to his "office" was that someone was sitting in his chair with their shoes on his desk, hidden behind his newspaper. He stood there for several seconds but the only reaction he got was the rapid turning of a new page. He deliberately slammed the door shut behind him, making the venetian blinds rattle. That made the someone lower the paper.

"You!" Angel gasped in shock.

"You were expecting maybe Beowulf?" Whistler grinned and threw the paper onto the desk.

"Wasn't expecting anyone and I'd like that state of affairs to continue," Angel growled once over the initial shock and re-opened the door behind him, stepping aside.

"Ouch," Whistler mocked with his hand over his heart. He stood up with a swift move and threw his arms wide. "Is that a way to greet an old mate?"

Angel scoffed and walked past the irritating demon to the elevator. "Next time you feel like visiting, don't," he suggested as the elevator doors closed behind him.

As Angel pulled the elevator doors open downstairs, the first thing he saw was Whistler leaning against a wall, lighting a cigarette. With a deep growl he charged wildly and threw a punch at the demon's head. His hand hit only plaster and was embedded into the wall up to his elbow.

"Ooo, bet that must have hurt!" a sarcastic voice spoke from behind him. "Y'sure you and the Slayer are not some long-lost siblings?"

"Buffy?" Angel asked in confusion and pulled his arm out of the wall.

"The Slayer, mate."

"Faith? How do you...?"

"Are you willing to listen for a change, or do you want to re-decorate still some more?"

Angel saw Whistler take a look around with his lips pursed.

"I kinda like the place, though," Whistler deadpanned. "Not much of a view but it's got a nice 'Bat Cave' sorta air to it." He tilted his head to the side a little as if expecting something. Angel just walked past him and started unbuckling his stake bracers.

"Hello? Bat Cave? Vampire? Bat / Vampire?" he heard Whistler call after him. "Well, doesn't this just show that possessing a soul does not imply a sense of humour."

"What do you want?" Angel shouted in frustration and threw the second bracer onto the table. He leaned in and laid his hands flat on the tabletop, taking a few deep, but unnecessary breaths.

Totally unfazed, Whistler plopped down on the couch. "Ever read Dickens, big guy?"

"Met him once," Angel muttered. "1858, the first of his reading tours."

"That's wicked!" Whistler grinned. "Myself, I spent most of the 19th century in... well, anyway. You could think of me as the 'Ghost of Christmas'."

"Which one?" Angel asked almost absentmindedly as he went to pick up a bag of blood from the fridge. "There were three."

"Why, all of them, mate."

Now, somewhat intrigued, Angel sat down opposite Whistler with a mug of warm pig's blood in his hand. There was no way he was actually enjoying the company, but still...

"See, three years ago I sort of nudged you in the direction you've been following pretty faithfully since," Whistler explained. "A few transgressions here and there, but who's counting those? Think of that episode as a visit from The Ghost of Christmas Past."

"And now? The Ghost of Christmas Present?"

"Exactly!" Whistler beamed. "An early/late Christmas Present from the Powers!"

"Tell me again... why aren't I kicking you out?"

"Because... Now I'm gonna tell you what happens next. Grab your coat."

"Visions," Angel stated flatly as he and Whistler walked along the dark street a block away from his lodgings.

Whistler snorted. "Try sensory overload mixed with head-splitting migraines. Just another piece of the 'benefits package' when you're working for the PtB. Used to get only these commands like 'go and kick that sorry excuse of a souled vampire's arse out of the gutter'. Then just a few weeks ago got the first taste of the 'new and improved'. Almost passed out and puked my guts out. All I remember is that it had to do with you."

"Why me?"

"They are trying to balance things and decided you got potential."

"Why you?"

Whistler stopped in his tracks and turned to face Angel with a serious look on his face. "Look, mate. I've been around a while and I know some stuff. Quite fucking much, to tell you the truth. But there's lots I cannot tell you right now, and I mean exactly that. They operate on a 'need to know' basis and they have decided that there are some things you don't need to know right now. You could hit me or torture me but until they 'release' the information in my mind, through a vision or whatever fucked-up way they decide, I'm physically unable to tell you what they don't want you to know at the moment."

"The Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come stuff. That's one of those, right?"

"Spot on. I guess there's hope for you yet."

"You mentioned Faith earlier. What about her?"

"Another piece in a multi-dimensional chess game, like you... like others."

"Buffy?"

"Could be."

"Rowan?"

"Entirely possible."

"So, you know him?"

"I know lots of people."

"You aren't going to tell me, are you?"

"What makes you think that?"

"You're not being very helpful."

"Right. Oh, which reminds me. Got a vision this morning. When the incapacitating pain stopped, I wrote this down..."

Dr Maggie Walsh leaned back in her swivel chair looking outwardly her normal, stoic self but inside she was jumping up and down and 'woo-hooing'. She would have liked to do it for real but that would have shattered the queen bitch image she had so carefully cultivated.

A full debug run on the proof-of-concept system completed for the first time, all 5786 test cases executed with a green DONE at the end of each line on the screen. Her fingers tapped idly on the receiver of the phone on her table. She should call colonel McNamara immediately, but why rush? They were three days ahead of schedule, an almost incomprehensible concept as far as government projects were concerned. No, she would bask for the rest of today, maybe open the bottle of 1967 Terrantez Madeira she had been saving for this occasion. The colonel could wait.

Instead, she logged into her laptop and opened the file containing the list of freshmen enrolled in her Introduction to Psychology class. She liked to be prepared, so she always tried to memorize and associate the picture in the student card with the name in the roster so she could call them by name from the time she saw her new students first. It always impressed them and added a little to her mystery.

The whole process was almost automatic and subconscious to her. But when she reached "S", she blinked.

Summers, Buffy Anne.

That name tickled something in her memory but she couldn't quite recall what. She was far too seasoned an observer to shrug such an... anomaly off, so she filed the girl away as someone to keep an eye on. Maybe she would later cross-reference against FBI and NSA databases but since the name didn't raise any immediate alarm bells, she could afford to leave that for later.

She was brought out of her musings by a set or precise military boots coming to a halt behind her.

She closed the lid of her laptop carefully before turning around. In front of her three clean-cut marines were standing at attention.

"Captain Finn," she acknowledged their leader.

"Ma'am," Riley saluted. "Captain Finn, Lieutenant Miller and Lieutenant Gates reporting for duty, ma'am."

"At ease," Maggie nodded at the three soldiers. "Good to see you again, Riley."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"You have your orders?"

"Yes, ma'am. The rest of the team are setting up quarters at Lowell House as we speak."

"Good, very good. Go join your men. There'll be a full debriefing at 08:00 tomorrow morning."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Dismissed."

After the three soldiers had left, Walsh picked up her stuff and stepped up a few flights of stairs to a platform from which she could see the whole of the so called "nexus" of their operations – a huge cavern with pristinely white floors and walls. Down below her, white-clad scientists were unpacking various kinds of medical equipment and other paraphernalia required for their endeavour.

They were really going to change the world. Unlimited budget from the same pool CIA got their funding for the projects no-one outside the military-industrial complex would ever see or hear a peep of.

Project Adam was not one of those projects. It simply didn't exist.

"Adam," Walsh whispered fondly. At that moment she felt like a god. There was a new life waiting to be born, at her command. Savouring the moment, she let a slight smile briefly caress her thin lips.

"Listen up, people!" she called loudly to get everyone's attention. "As of this moment the Initiative is officially in operation."

She basked momentarily in the applause from below before twirling around and leaving the area. The bottle of vintage Madeira and some mellow Chopin were calling to her at home.