Disclaimer: I do not own any of the copyrighted material contained herein. They are the rightful property of their respective creators and/or associated companies. I make no profit from this whatsoever and I have no intention of changing that at any point in the future. I write because it's fun and because there are those who enjoy reading my work. Therefore it would be greatly appreciated if no legal action was taken against me because I can promise that even if I'm drained dry it won't cover even half of the legal fees.
Xander's POV
"Someone's done some serious redecorating of my brain," he commented as he looked at the shadowy military base he'd found himself in.
He'd followed the tunnel The Sorrow had indicated also watched as the environment around him shifted in a way that did not conform to his pace or connect properly to one layout to the next. Tunnel, a ladder that seemed to go on forever but did not, an underground chamber split into three rows, and now a military base where all within were too shadowy to make out any real details.
In short it didn't match anything close to what he'd imagined the inside of his head would look like and that implied an outside factor at play.
Eyghon? Leftovers from the Halloween spell? It was anyone's guess what the right answer was.
THERE!
Through the windows of the largest hanger in the military base he spotted a series of light flashes that were anomalous when compared to the rest of the environment. If the world around him was the creation of Eyghon then the anomaly could be a manifestation of the hyena Matriarch's successful blows against the possessing demon. If he could slip through a crack, a weak point created by pain, then he could get back to the real fight and help the primal spirit kick out Eyghon once and for all.
Running for the nearest door, hoping that the symbolism would grant him entry into the hanger, he was pleased when he was able to turn the doorknob and push the door inward. Entering the hanger, it looked to his eyes to be the assembly or maintenance facility for some sort of large vehicle and there was a mass in the middle but he couldn't identify it. It didn't look like a tank, an APC or some sort of military transport truck, so he was at a loss to define what it was he was looking at.
He could only say that it was BIG and would be a royal bitch to put down even with an RPG-7 and with plenty of ammo strapped to his back.
Before he could think on the matter further, an eruption of light appeared before the large metal thing but this time it didn't go away. Instead it seemed to branch out from a central mass, destroying any shadow it came into contact with, but the destruction was only temporary since the shadows crept back soon after. The branches of light reached out at random and even he had to move quickly to keep from getting hit but when the discharges seemed to settle down things took a weird turn.
Within the mass of light a form became visible and, the clearer it became, the more he saw movement in the form until it rose from its crouched position to stand tall before him.
"This is as far as you go, Snake!" the muscled yet scarred man said, anger clearly in his voice.
"Don't suppose it'd make any difference if I said you've got the wrong guy?" he asked, believing that this was clearly a case of mistaken identity.
"As if I'd believe the lies of a CIA dog!" the scarred man yelled with the light he'd seen before dancing about the muscled body. "My plans will not be halted by a mere pup! I'll KILL YOU first!"
Shit.
He didn't know whether or not being hurt or killed in his mind would have nasty and permanent consequences but he was in no hurry to find out. Bringing his arms up in the fighting stance he'd been practicing since Halloween, he looked about the area covertly for any sort of weapon he could use. If the light was as dangerous as he thought, getting too close would be a death sentence so he needed something that would allow him to attack from a safe distance. Sadly, no matter where he looked, he couldn't see anything he could use as a weapon, though it was possible that the shadowy environment was just hiding it like the vapors of a smoke machine hiding the floor of a movie set.
Even if that were the case, though, he had a feeling his friend with the unstable personality wasn't going to let him search unmolested.
I guess that when defending yourself is impossible there's only one option, he thought, bracing himself for some unpleasant work. ATTACK!
With that in mind he charged his foe, intent on getting to within striking distance before delivering the strongest barrage of blows he could. If he was fortunate he could win the fight before his enemy could retaliate and floor him with the energy that would likely hurt like a bitch if it managed to hit him.
There!
He spotted the light collecting on the left arm of the man and, as soon as the arm began to rise to take aim, he changed his charge path to avoid its projected point of impact. His enemy made an effort to adjust the aim of the blast but apparently once the gathering of energy reached a certain point it needed to be released whether the wielder liked it or not. Diving into a roll, he managed to evade the discharge without losing too much momentum and once he was back on his feet he continued on his way.
Twice more he needed to evade and each time was a nearer miss than the last, but Lady Luck turned out to have his back since he was able to get to where he wanted to be.
Without hesitation he began to wail on the man, targeting spots on the human body known to impair movement and in some cases cause loss of consciousness. Kicks, punches and even a head butt were employed but, when he saw the light energy begin to crackle all over his enemy's body, he knew what was coming. Diving off to the side, he did his best to create as much distance as he could but in the end he still got singed by an omni-directional discharge of light energy and boy did he hate being right about the bolts hurting like a sonuvabitch.
If a graze hurts this much, then a direct hit's definitely going take me down, he thought grimly as he watched the discharge die down. Maybe permanently.
The moment he saw that it was safe he once more began his approach, hoping that this time he'd manage to successfully land the deciding blow to end it all. Like before the scarred man tried to fry him with discharges but his eyes could see that the arm movements were not as smooth as they'd been before. The discharges also didn't possess the same charge time from shot to shot, making him think that either his foe was trying to make his attacks unpredictable or the hits he'd scored earlier were interfering. It was hard to focus if you were in pain and, if that pain spiked at the wrong moment, a person's focus and control could slip from their grasp. In any case, his pulse spiked a few times when he feared that he'd misjudged what his enemy was going to do next but the same luck that visited interesting times upon him also kept him alive.
When he arrived he'd didn't hesitate.
A grip on an arm became a throw.
A throw gave way to a joint lock.
Once that was in place he used his basic knowledge of bones and ligaments to apply pressure until he heard a satisfying crack joined to a cry of pain. Releasing the arm, he watched as his foe reflexively grasped the injured limb while backing away. However he could see from the movements that his enemy wasn't quite ready to throw in the proverbial towel just yet.
"DAMN YOU!" the scarred man yelled even as he tried to fire off a bolt from his crouched position.
Fortunately for him it looked as though the ability to fire off the light was somehow tied to his enemy's nervous system and when a charge began to build up it was matched by rising pain. Sure, he supposed that a suitably stubborn individual could force themselves past the pain but it'd put some serious cracks in their focus, making it anyone's guess if the blast that followed would actually hit anything.
Waiting for the first flare up of pain caused by the effort to gather up energy for an attack, he darted in with all the speed he could manage. Planting his foot once he was close enough, he brought the other leg around, knee leading the way, slamming into the side of his foe's head with all the momentum he'd built up in darting in. As soon as he was sure the attack had done its job he grabbed the other arm, the one he hadn't already injured, and pinned it to the ground before pushing off the ground and bringing both knees down on the limb with his full weight behind them. Bone snapped like he'd hoped it would, taking away the last means by which his foe had to aim his ability with any real precision.
However he wasn't done there.
The longer he remained in the depths of his own mind, the more damage Eyghon could potentially do to his body or to those he cared about. Thus he got to his feet, lined up the enemy's head and then delivered a goal kick worthy of the NFL right to the side of it without any restraint. After all this was all in his head and so, even if in the real world such a kick could cause someone serious harm, it'd just defeat a hostile figment of his imagination.
Taking a couple of steps back he watched his enemy carefully for any sign that hostilities might resume but, when the form dispersed like a sandcastle being destroyed by the tide coming in, he allowed himself to relax if only a little.
This proved to be a mistake.
He only had a few seconds of warning from his instincts that something was approaching from behind but that was barely enough time for him to turn his head and get a brief glance at the new threat. Another shadowy form but with less defined features to the point where the only things that stood out for him were the ends of a head band fluttering in the wind and an eye patch over the right eye.
Sadly seconds were not enough for him to evade what was coming at him and, when it hit, every sense he had went from 'all is well' to 'WHAT THE FUCK'. Up became down, right became left and his senses swung between being almost numb to threatening to knock him out due to sheer potency alone. Consciousness became something of a question soon but at the same time he felt as though something were pulling him away to someplace else.
"Well done, young soldier," The Sorrow said without source but echoing through the air. "May the spirit of the warrior be with you always."
Why do I suddenly get the feeling that I just made a life altering choice? he thought before all became lost to the void.
Giles' POV
I will certainly need to research this 'Big Boss' person more thoroughly once this is all over with, he thought as he watched both Buffy and Angel attempt to subdue the possessed Xander. It simply should not be possible for a single healthy young man to be doing so well against a master vampire and a Slayer.
By 'doing well' he did not mean that Eyghon using Big Boss' skills was managing to place the duo on the defensive and keep them there. No matter how skilled the human soldier, such a thing was physically impossible since both members of the two fighter group were physically capable of far outstripping even the best human athletes. Granted, both Buffy and Angel were holding back so as not to do irreparable harm to Xander's body but they were still moving at speeds that should have been impossible to deal with.
Yet there it was, right before his eyes, the unimaginable sight of Eyghon countering the moves sent against it.
Evasion, parrying, blocking and countering were all happening to varying degrees of success.
That being said, there were a few times when skill alone could not prevent harm from befalling Xander's body, as a result bruises could be seen as well as some abrasions that would need to be tended to.
He was about to suggest a change in tactics when something else chose to intervene in his stead and, as a result, what had been a skilled defensee shattered into confusion. The movements of Xander's body became erratic, as though the command signals coming from his brain were being degraded in some manner to the point where they could no longer be recognized. It was odd but it did present them with a golden opportunity, so Angel naturally charged in before successfully managing to clamp his hands around the throat of Xander's body.
It was a risky plan but it was logical.
Eyghon could only possess the unconscious or the dead but it still possessed a survival instinct like any other living thing. By having Angel seriously attempt to strangle Xander's body, feelings of fear and imminent death would be produced. Even if Eyghon could inhabit Xander's deceased body, the stranglehold limited mobility significantly and held the potential of snapping the neck if enough vampire strength was employed. As such, as his old mistake could inhabit dead people, it still relied on the host body's inherent nervous system to move it about. It was one of the reasons why the bodies Eyghon inhabited started out moving like normal but gradually became more and more forced as the central nervous system degraded like everything else under the strain of the demon's power. If the neck was snapped to the point of causing paralysis then even Eyghon would be immobilized.
The demon knew this and, while if it thought things through a bit more, it could find a work around the fear would hamper that.
Or so they all hoped.
It wasn't until almost a minute later though that they got their answer when a hazy form leapt out of Xander and into Angel, causing the latter to release his stranglehold. The souled vampire slumped to the ground as his inner demonic spirit did battle with Eyghon and Xander began to cough as a natural consequence of being strangled. Roars and growls of an inhuman nature echoed out of Angel as the two demons did battle but it was only when one of them wailed in defeat before ashes not of Angel fell out of the vampire that they knew the outcome.
"It worked!" Willow exclaimed with a smile. "I mean, I was pretty sure it would work. It was logical and all that but you never know, right? I am SO glad it worked!"
"Yeah… it worked." Angel said with a satisfied smile on his face. "I've got a demon in me that's been dying for a real fight."
"More like you were just looking for a chance to strangle me without pissing Buffy or Willow off," Xander griped with his sore throat being understandably raspy.
"Xander! Angel just saved you!" Buffy objected, clearly unwilling to permit any slander of her boyfriend's character. "You could at least say thank you."
"Thank you," Xander said without any genuine sentiment of gratitude involved. "Now howsabout we get back to the library so I can get patched up? I don't know about the two of you but I'm sore all over and not in the fun way."
Rolling his eyes at the young man's words and manner, he moved to Xander's side and carefully helped the ex-possessed teenager to his feet. It would be a long slog since they had not travelled by car but on foot but there was one thing he needed to get out of the way sooner rather than later.
"I'm sorry you had to go through all this, Xander," he said with sincere regret in his voice. "You should not have to pay for the foolishness of my youth."
"Hey, no problem! Being young is the perfect time to be stupid 'cause no one holds it against you," Xander said, trying and succeeding for the most part to achieve his usual lopsided grin. "Just… next time don't leave us in the dark, okay? We're a team and we're at our best as a team."
"Full disclosure from here on out then," he said gratefully with a grin of gratitude all his own. "Thank you, Xander."
He knew that he shouldn't have made such a promise even in the aftermath of a trying crisis such as this but it had felt right and he would do the best that he could to live up to his word. Even if by Council law there were things he was forbidden to tell anyone below a certain rank and definitely couldn't tell a civilian, he would do his utmost to be honest and forthright with the 'Scoobies'. They were putting their lives on the line to help Buffy with no thought of reward.
The least he could do was show his respect for their dedication by not keeping the truth from them.
Sadly there were some truths, some facts, which could not be revealed due to a spell cast on all Watchers above a certain clearance level. If any of them uttered so much as a word of the secrets that fell under that purview it would trigger massive bleeding, both internal and external, leading to the traitor's death in seconds. There were of course very specific criteria under which a Watcher could reveal those facts without the approval of the governing body of the Council. However he had a feeling that the governing body had deliberately worded those criteria so as to make it nearly impossible for them to be met. Travers and those immediately below him thrived on the level of power and control they possessed. They would never allow anything to happen without it being in keeping with their plans for the future.
Still, he hoped that if he did his best to be honest with the facts he was able to reveal without fear of magical consequence that Xander would be understand why he had to remain silent about the rest.
Those who knew about the supernatural inevitably learned the value of secrets and sometimes came to regret having to keep some from those they cared about.
Zanzibar Land, Evening
Presidential Residence, Office
Big Boss' POV
"Sir? Your guest has arrived," stated the guard assigned to guard the entrance to his office.
"Show him in," he ordered, knowing who it was and not wanting to waste any time.
He had a good reason for calling on his old friend and it wasn't just to rehash old times.
Ever since the thirty-first of October he'd felt off in a way he couldn't ever recall feeling before but he'd brushed it off in the beginning as a side effect of his new station as president of Zanzibar Land. He'd been many things over the course of his life: soldier, hero, private military company founder, mercenary and double agent, not to mention military leader. However leader of his own nation, however small it might be, was something new to him but, given how he'd organized it thus far, it wasn't completely foreign. This was after all a nation populated by soldiers and made for soldiers, regardless of where they'd originally hailed from. This nation's purpose was to give those people, men and women, a place where they would be honored and respected rather than be used as political tools and then thrown away whenever the climate of the world warranted it.
The Mercenary War, as the world had called it, was over and for the moment it looked like the world was willing to withdraw and regroup rather than try to crush them immediately.
It wouldn't last, of course.
Sooner or later one nation or another, to say nothing of their respective intelligence agencies, would make an attempt to destroy what he'd made here for no other reason than to restore the status quo of old. Zero, at the very least, would not tolerate his new nation since it ran contrary to the man's design to control the information of the world from behind the scenes and therefore control it. Would his former friend try something akin to what Skull Face managed to accomplish with MSF? No. Zero had never been one to repeat strategies, especially since Zanzibar Land was no base in the middle of the ocean that could be sunk. Throughout the Mercenary War he'd had his forces seize key strategic points throughout the land and begin immediate fortification measures in order to hinder any future efforts by an invading force. He'd also begun work to insert spies into the ranks of nations his experience told him would be most likely to take action against him. If he could buy enough time, he could effectively stalemate those who sought to destroy what he'd built until he successfully erected a land The Boss would've approved of.
He smiled as he thought on all he'd done to make sure that Zanzibar Land would not fall like Outer Heaven had two years ago.
Hearing the door open, he couldn't help but grin at the sight of his old friend and found it remarkable how much Ocelot had changed from the day they'd first met back in Sixty-Four. Back then the triple agent had been a young major in GRU under Colonel Volgin, taking orders from both the KGB and CIA. He'd learned from their first encounter that the kid had potential and over time he'd helped nurture that potential into what it was today. Gun fighting, torture, espionage and other talents had molded the young soldier into an infamous individual in the intelligence community valued by allies and feared by enemies.
"It's been a long time, eh, 'John'?" Ocelot asked with a similar grin directed at him.
"That it has, Adamska," he replied with a nod towards a vacant chair. "Anything I can get you before we get down to business?"
"No, thank you," Ocelot replied with a shake of his head. "It took some doing to get away from THEM without arousing any suspicions. The window of opportunity we have to talk is shrinking by the minute so I'd prefer to finish sooner rather than later."
He nodded with acceptance.
Ever since Ocelot had left his position as advisor to his 'Phantom', the man's time had been spent with OMON, then the Russian Tax Police's SWAT team, and then the SVR. Eventually, though, Adam had chosen to leave Russia behind altogether out of dissatisfaction with the rigid system that the successor organization of the KGB worked on. He became a mercenary, cutting a swath through numerous battlefields while also picking up spy jobs for THEM. While he'd like nothing better than to pull his friend out of that hell, he knew Ocelot actually liked it and, through working for THEM, a source of info was provided for him into the machinations of his former friend.
This was an asset that could not be sacrificed carelessly.
"Very well. Ever since this past Halloween I've been experiencing…flashes," he explained as he tried to put his dilemma into words. "At first it'd just been vague impressions that didn't mesh with the world around me and I thought that I was coming down with something. Had the docs check me over but, aside from some minor brain wave fluctuations, they didn't find anything."
"Could it have been the Third Child?" Ocelot asked with some concern. "I'd heard he'd left the KGB to work with the FBI. It wouldn't surprise me if THEY found a way to make use of him."
"No. I might've only met him once but this was different from the Child's power," he replied, shaking his head after remembering that night in Cyprus so long ago. "Recently, though, the flashes have been getting more detailed. I get visual, auditory and olfactory input but never more than a second or two. Enough to tell me it's on the west coast of America and not a major city."
"Some novice psychic, perhaps? Reaching out and making contact with you by chance?" Ocelot asked, proposing some possibilities that were feasible.
"They'd have to be pretty powerful to reach all the way across the Pacific with their minds," he replied, pointing out the importance of this possibility. "It was two nights ago that things got weirder. Two nights ago it wasn't just a flash for a few seconds. It was more like… like taking a trip down memory lane while on acid. I saw Groznyj Grad. I saw Volgin."
"That…is troubling. If this psychic is accessing your memories somehow, it could lead to trouble the closer they get to the present," Ocelot said, realizing the depth of the problem for the first time. "Given enough time they could come to know everything you know."
"Yes. With that information it could turn everything I've done, everything I've worked towards, to dust," he said with a nod of seriousness at the paths that were laid out before him. "I've already begun making changes where I can to minimize the damage the psychic could do but there's too much that I can't do without doing more harm than good. This is where you come in."
"You want me to go sniff about. See if I can't find this psychic," Ocelot said, catching onto the role that was being laid out for him. "Assuming I do find the troublemaker, then what?"
"Evaluate them. If they're non-affiliated and can be of use to me, recruit them," he replied, constructing the ground rules. "If they are affiliated with the American government, military or intelligence agencies, eliminate them."
"And if they're not affiliated with anyone but their talents aren't useful?" Ocelot asked, bringing up an unmentioned possibility.
"Medication in the right dosages can make a person's memories terribly unreliable," he replied, providing an answer between the lines. "Enough word gets around and no one will take anything they say seriously ever again."
"Understood. The flashes give you anything to work with? Anything to help narrow the search area?" Ocelot asked with a nod as he accepted the assignment. "The American west coast is a lot of land to cover."
Picking up a file folder with only a few pieces of paper inside, he tossed it to his old friend.
"I managed to recall a few license plates, some store signs and some other things," he replied as his friend skimmed the folder's contents. "It's not much but it'll get you started."
"Hmmmm… you're right, but I know a few strings I can pull on to get more details," Ocelot said, closing the folder before tucking it under his arm. "Give me two weeks once I'm over there. Shouldn't take much longer than that. Anyone with the psychic power to reach you here is going to set off ripples. The stronger the signs are, the closer I'll be."
"Good. I knew I could count on you," he said with a grateful smile.
"Always… Big Boss," Ocelot said, returning the smile with one of respect.
Reaching over, he pressed a button on his intercom interface.
"My guest will be leaving now," he said, keeping things short and to the point. "Enact 'tunnel rat' protocols to get him out of the country undetected."
"Understood, sir," the man on the other side said with a soldier's discipline. "We'll be ready in five."
With that the intercom was turned off.
"'Tunnel Rat protocols'?" Ocelot asked sardonically at the code phrase. "No limo or private jet?"
"What's the matter? Gone soft?" he asked with a smile.
They both laughed at the very idea of Major Ocelot, of Shalashaska, going soft.
Three minutes later one of his few friends from the old days was gone and he was again alone in his office. Looking over to the files he'd yet to look at, he saw a name on the folder that was on the top of the pile: Doctor Madnar. The man had aided his phantom against his will in developing the new Metal Gear prototype and, after Outer Heaven had fallen, the man had attempted to continue Metal Gear research in America.
This had not ended well for the scientist.
The American government had wanted the man to research other technologies, such as brain bombs and the S.D.I. When Madnar had pressed for support in Metal Gear research he'd been abandoned and ostracized. This was when the man had come to Zanzibar Land, likely foreseeing the possibility of a mercenary nation being more receptive towards his research. Given his personal history with bipedal nuclear capable tanks, he had indeed known how effective such things would be for his new nation. As a result he'd granted the man citizenship and put him to work building a Metal Gear to surpass all those that'd come before. Once the prototype reached a certain stage of completion, he'd send teams out to neighboring nations to acquire the nuclear components he'd need to arm it.
When that happened, Zanzibar Land would become a nuclear power right alongside Zero's country lair of America.
Then the war would begin to tear down his 'old friend's' united world down to the very foundations. When it was all burning, he would stand before those who'd been with him in the beginning and he would END THEM.
Only then would his vengeance against them be complete.
Only then would the world The Boss had wanted to see be a reality.
Santa Fe, New Mexico
Bus Stop, Early Morning
To hell with being an optimist!
From there on out she was going to be a card carrying pessimist, if only because it'd be better for her survival.
After that night in Springfield she'd gone ahead and splurged for a bus ticket to take her to California but, much like she'd predicted, there'd been delays in the form of scheduled stops and engine trouble. Having spent so much money she wasn't about to abandon her ticket and search for something quicker but now she was beginning to regret her decision. With all the added travel time, her efforts to keep IT at bay were beginning to fail and it now required almost constant attention to seal up any openings IT might take advantage of. If IT was as intelligent as she feared, the time was soon going to come when she was going to be completely immobilized by her efforts to keep ownership of her body.
That could not be permitted until she was safely home, surrounded by friends and family, so the time might well have arrived for her to do something… reckless.
She might well have to steal a car and try to drive it herself to Sunnydale.
She didn't want to, her mother had taught her better than that, but she had her own schedule to meet and it was obvious that that the people in charge of the bus was operating on a different one. A countdown was shrinking in her mind, telling her how much longer she had until her defenses fell and IT finished what IT had tried to do. She HAD to get back to Sunnydale and the sooner, the better.
While the ideal time to steal anything was during the night when no one could clearly make out your face, that was hours away and she didn't want to wait that long. A war of attrition was what she was embroiled in, her will versus the unrelenting nature of IT, was not something that would benefit her if it got drawn out. IT had said that IT intended to initiate a self-termination sequence before she'd managed to stop it. She didn't know what the self-termination sequence entailed. It could be anything from simply frying every circuit in the robot body she now inhabited to detonating some sort of bomb incorporated into the body's design.
Either way she didn't want to be around innocent people if she lost the fight.
Hell, SHE didn't want it to happen, period, seeing as how she lacked the ability to jump into a new body before the robot body got destroyed.
Strolling through the city, she looked for possibilities, vehicles she stood a chance of driving but that wouldn't be missed, but wouldn't cause serious inconvenience to the owners. No families, no innocent people, but that pretty much left people who saw the law as a guideline or a joke rather than something to live by. Those people she wouldn't feel a lick of remorse for if she stole a vehicle from them and, due to her new body, she probably didn't have much to fear in terms of them shooting at her.
Assuming they didn't have a rocket launcher or armor piercing rounds, that is, she thought with a rueful look on her face.
She wanted to believe that such weapons were beyond a criminal's ability to acquire but it wasn't a certainty. It was a staple of criminal activity to traffic in what could not be legally obtained and the more ambitious the criminal the more power you needed in order to keep what you had. Expanding operations and territory would take more power and more firepower.
So what she needed was to find some small timers.
They had to be big enough to have decent vehicles but not so big that they had access to military hardware.
No problem…right?
It was three hours before she found what looked to be a garage/junkyard that appeared to meet her target criteria without being too ambitious. She made one pass around the perimeter, not wanting to make any blended in guards to get suspicious of her and think she was an enemy casing the place.
Which she was, but no reason to let them know what she was up to.
When she was finished she took a seat on a park bench a block or so away before evaluating what she'd seen. There were at least two guards at every gate leading in and one sitting in front of the door to the garage, but no guns that she could see. Then again, if they were stupid enough to have guns out in the open, then it'd certainly bring the cops down on their heads, so anything they had was concealed. Concealed beneath clothing, in bags, or folded over newspapers. Anything bigger than a handgun or an Uzi was probably stored inside and would only be brought out to play if something more impressive appeared in terms of threat potential. Would there be grenades and pipe bombs? She had no clue.
In the end she wasn't there to take out the entire operation.
Just get in, get a vehicle and then get out before making a beeline for Sunnydale.
With that in mind she headed for the nearest clothing store in order to find something to conceal her face. Even if they had no idea about her name or address, giving them a clear look at her face would be enough to get them started, especially if they had a local cop on the take. A quick sketch, feed it through the system and bam they'd have all they needed to follow her home.
She couldn't let that happen.
It took her a while, since ski masks weren't exactly in fashion in New Mexico, but eventually she bought two bandanas: one to cover the top of her head and the other to cover her face from the nose down. Tied tightly enough they wouldn't come off very easily and it'd leave some doubt on anyone spotting her as to whether or not her hair was real or just a wig.
Now came the hard part.
Getting inside.
Circling around, she took a position behind a dumpster across the street from the rear fence of the junkyard portion of the property before putting on the bandanas. She did her best to ensure that the pieces of cloth covered all they needed to and once done she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then opened them before running across the street to the wire fence surrounding the junkyard. In a move that was more impulsive than planned, she reached out, got a firm grip with both hands, and then put all the effort she could into tearing a hole into the fence.
Wet paper.
That was the only way to describe how easily the wire fence parted before her robot body's strength but she did her best not to become immobilized by the feat. Instead, once the hole was large enough for her to fit through, she entered the junkyard, but as she should've anticipated the sound of tearing metal was not quiet. She could hear sounds of the suspected guards moving on the hole she'd made and knew she would not have much time to make her move. Looking towards the garage, she almost fell off stride when icons and images appeared in her field of vision that lacked substance but video game logic told her what they were.
Motion tracking icons complete with an estimated distance from her.
More specifically, they were tracking the guards as they moved to investigate her breach in their fence.
With this information she was able to sneak around them even as they moved and advance towards the garage deciding to take advantage of her own disturbance.
Upon reaching the door, though, it opened by another's will and she found herself approaching one of the criminals running the place, who no doubt was coming to join his fellows. Instead of stopping she kept moving forward, moving her right hand as quickly as she could to wrap her fingers around his throat. She'd only meant to squeeze hard enough to keep him from crying out to his friends about where she was but it didn't turn out that way.
She didn't know whether she was still running on the rush of energy that got her across the street and through the fence or what but instead of merely squeezing… she crushed. The man's face went slack while his eyes lost the spark that let all know that he was alive.
Letting go of him more out of shock than anything, she looked down at the blood dripping off of her right hand but, when another gang member showed up, she did the only thing she could.
She focused on the mission, on the objective, and shoved everything else off to the side to be dealt with later.
Darting forward towards the newcomer, she felt the force behind the bullets he fired even though they didn't do more than slightly throw her off stride, if that. As soon as she was close enough to, she yanked the gun from the man's hands before performing what she thought was a thrust kick to the guy's chest. It was like the guy had been launched from a cannon, or at least a slingshot, as he was sent flying through the air before coming into contact with some metal shelves holding various containers. Hearing commotion from throughout the garage, she looked about as motion tracking icons popped up before her eyes numbering at least fourteen, though it was hard to tell since some icons overlapped each other. Gripping the pistol that she'd taken by the right side, she moved almost mechanically as she took aim at one of the icons, fired and then aimed at another before repeating the process.
The pistol, however, only had six shots, and once they were all used she discarded it like the useless mass of metal that it was.
"Disparar! Dispararle!" one of the men ordered before the remaining eight began unloading on her.
THIS proved to be a bit more hindering, making it hard to take steps forward but a remedy soon presented itself but not in a way she'd expected.
As though alive, her right arm rose to take aim at the closest target and then her flesh… flowed… back to her elbow, revealing a robotic metal arm. Then something truly bizarre happened as the robot arm began to reconfigure itself smooth as clockwork until her four fingers were repositioned so that they were all curled towards a central spot in what used to be the palm. With a short whine as the only warning, a bolt of bright gold shot out, crossed the open space in moments, and burned a hole as large as a basketball through the man's chest. The energy discharge actually kept on going until it hit a car engine that'd been hanging from the ceiling and did some serious damage to it.
THIS had a dramatic effect on the rest of the men she was tracking taking them from simply taking down an intruder to fighting for their lives.
"Obtener las armas pesadas! Rápidamente!" yelled the same man from before even as four of the men continued to focus fire on her as the other three moved to obey.
A translation of what the man had said appeared at the bottom of her field of vision and she had to pause at the thought of heavier firepower being brought to bear on her. Again with no signal of her own, her right arm began to reconfigure itself, taking a configuration more consistent with the business end of a flamethrower. The comparison proved to be spot on as a burst of fire shot out of the end of her reconfigured right arm but the flames were not directed at random. Instead they were directed at objects positioned in the same direction that the three who'd left to get the heavy weapons had gone. Up and down she set objects in that direction ablaze before choosing others a little off to either side in order to create a makeshift wall of fire.
It took a moment to comprehend the reason for this: a smoke screen.
The criminals would need line of sight in order to get a bead on her and that would be hard to do through the flames. When added to the smoke that always accompanied fire getting into their eyes, the only option they'd have would be the spray and pray method of killing something. It didn't make her safe but it did provide her with an opening.
A way for her to make her getaway using whatever vehicle was closest.
Panning over the various parked cars in the garage, outlines and design specs popping up in her vision, she looked for the one she sought. In the end it was the fourth vehicle that was both good enough and appeared to be in working condition.
A Ford Mustang Mach 1.
Information popped up on her vision, telling her it was the third generation model, but she didn't care about that. Moving over to the vehicle's driver's side door she opened it before sliding inside and closing it behind her. Looking at the interior in all the usual places one might expect someone to put the keys, it wasn't until she pulled down the visor that a pair dropped into her lap. Picking them up, she followed the steps she'd seen her mother do with the family car and, after she heard the impressive rumble of the engine, she shifted it into gear.
Only one thing left to do.
Extending her left arm out of the driver's side window, she watched with gratitude as it reconfigured itself much as the right arm had into a weapon. With three blasts that took nine seconds in total one of the doors was obliterated, giving her a clear path to the street outside. Pulling her arm back in even as it returned to a normal human shape and the liquid metal took on a more fleshy appearance, she pressed down on the gas pedal.
She wanted to cry out 'WOAH' as the car rocketed out of the garage but nothing escaped her lips even as she turned the wheel to the left, taking her down the street. With skill she knew she didn't have, or the reflexes, she navigated around traffic, ignoring the laws for safe motoring and instead focusing on putting as much distance between her and the garage as possible. It wasn't a smooth ride and she'd been forced to detour lest she be forced to run over civilians on the sidewalk, but she still made progress. Several glances in the rearview mirror but she could spot no signs of pursuit by the criminals but she knew with all the fireworks the police would soon get involved.
Given the lack of subtlety she was employing with her escape, they'd catch wind of her soon and immediately work to apprehend her.
If it wasn't the reckless endangerment that she got hit with, it'd be the lack of a legal driver's license that'd put her behind bars. Of course that'd only be the case if they never suspected that they were looking at a human spirit inhabiting a robot's body. If they did, the men in black suits would come and she'd never see the light of day again as a free being.
A short while later she reached the edge of the city of Santa Fe, getting onto the open highway and heading north. It wasn't a direct route to Sunnydale but she couldn't risk giving any who did follow an idea of where she could be found. She'd go as far north as she dared before veering west and navigating as best she could towards California. Fortunately for her most of the highway signs were easy to see and, while geography might not have been her best subject, every American had a rough idea where all the popular states and cities were located.
If she used them as landmarks, navigation points, she could get back to Sunnydale quickly enough.
Time was running out, some of it lost by her actions just now, and so she clung to the unnatural calm that'd come over her after she'd killed that man just outside the garage.
If she allowed herself to return to normal, she would be in no state to do anything and end up wasting more time.
She would NOT allow that to happen.
She WOULD get HOME.
A Mansion
Indianapolis, Indiana
That Evening
Senator Robert Kinsey's POV
"So what do you say, senator? Are you amiable to our offer?" the man who'd only identified himself as 'Agent Smith' of the NID asked from his chair.
"You are quite the salesman, Agent Smith," he said, tapping his finger on the glass of gin in his hand. "If what you say about 'Area Fifty-Two' is true then it is a matter of grave concern for the United States of America. Aliens who once enslaved mankind once more looking in our direction? Spaceships? I may not have served as a soldier in the past but even I can see the necessity of acquiring the means to defend ourselves as soon as possible."
"Yet General Hammond and his teams have shown reluctance to do all that is needed to acquiring those means," Agent Smith said with audible distaste. "Too concerned with making 'friends' with primitive locals or heartless but advanced races who refuse to share what they have. At the rate things are going, we might acquire something of use in, say… eight years."
"In eight years all of humanity could be reduced to a pile of ash by these false gods!" he snapped with anger at the danger America was being placed in.
"You and I are in complete agreement with that, senator," Agent Smith said with a smile of commiseration. "That is why we need your help. We have a plan ready that, if all goes well, will result in the shutting down of the SGC and place the Stargate solely in NID hands. Already men sympathetic to our point of view have been making rumblings about the lack of results under General Hammond's leadership. In a few months we plan on arranging for a representative to visit the SGC under the cover of reviewing whether or not it is a financially practical operation. Of course the decision to shut the place down is already a done deal. We just need to be seen to be going through the motions of due process and a fair hearing."
"And once I have voiced my lack of 'satisfaction' regarding the administration of the stargate?" he asked even though he had a few ideas on that.
"Our people will submit the proposal to have the stargate turned over to the N.I.D. while making it clear that our agents will do everything they can to ensure America's safety," Agent Smith replied in a way that implied that he was looking forward to that day. "It shouldn't take much to sway a majority vote in our favor and neutralize any of Hammond's supporters."
"Then I guess there's only one thing left to say," he said as he stood up and extended his right hand across his desk. "You've got yourself-"
Before he could finish his statement a ringing sound could be heard from Agent Smith's coat pocket, causing the man to hold up his hand in apology. A moment later the source of the ringing was revealed to be one of the newer cellular phones that was becoming quite popular amongst consumers and with the press of a button Smith put it to his ear.
"Agent Smith," Smith said before listening to something for a few seconds. "Capabilities? Interesting. Status of pursuit? Keep after it. This might just be the break we've been waiting for. I'll be there soon."
With that the phone call ended and Agent Smith put his cell phone back into his pocket.
"An interesting development?" he asked, probing for information like any smart senator would.
"You could say that," Agent Smith replied, looking for a moment as though that was all that would be said before a new expression appeared. "One of our undercover agents just reported an unusual occurrence in Santa Fe. A young woman broke into the suspected chop shop of a local gang and stole a car a few hours ago. This by itself is odd but what caught our attention was HOW she did it. 'Superhuman strength', 'immunity to small arms fire' and 'advanced prosthetic weaponry' are just a few of the words thrown about."
"Alien?" he asked, immediately paying attention to this new development.
"Unknown, but it's safe to say no one on Earth is responsible or else we'd have learned of it sooner," Agent Smith replied with a slightly negative shake of his head. "Regardless, we have assets in pursuit as we speak. If we can acquire this 'anomaly' and learn even some of its secrets before you go to the SGC, we'll be in a much stronger position to gain custody of the stargate."
"Then I won't keep you any further," he said, his mind afire with how such technology could benefit America.
"It'll still be a while before we run it to ground," Agent Smith said, not moving an inch. "It would facilitate matters significantly if, say… the SAC were to help reallocate funds to a new project, or rather make it look like the paperwork had been ready for the rubber stamp for a while now. Once we acquire the anomaly, we're going to need to work quickly to learn enough of its secrets to help you in your visit to the SGC."
"I believe I can arrange that. One of the key skills of anyone with 'ambition' is networking. Making 'friends' in the right places," he said, seeing where this was going. "I can have most of the paperwork ready in the next two days but some blanks can only be filled AFTER you've acquired this anomaly and taken it to an appropriate facility. It would be… easier… if perhaps a visit could be arranged to make it look as though I was familiar with the scientists involved and the procedures performed."
"I'll have to clear it with my superiors but so long as you live up to your end of the bargain, I don't see any problem," Agent Smith said with only mild hesitation.
"If you and the NID can provide the means by which America can be both prosperous and safe, Agent Smith, then you don't have a thing to worry about where I am concerned," he said, once more extending his hand for a shake.
"Then I look forward to a long and productive relationship, Senator Kinsey," Agent Smith said before taking the hand and giving it a nice firm shake to seal the deal.
Sunnydale High School Library
Three Days Later, Evening
Dawns' POV
"So what's the what, G-Man?" Xander asked as the Watcher emerged from his office.
"Must you use that infernal nickname?" Giles asked, suppressing a groan of exasperation.
"Yep," Xander replied with his lopsided grin.
"Enough of the crap!" Cordy snapped clearly not wanting to waste any time. "You'd better have good news for us, Watcher."
Yes.
That was the reason why all six of them had gathered in the library.
Time had passed since Halloween and during that time Giles had promised to keep tabs on the ambient chaos energy in Sunnydale for any signs of dissipating. It was their collective hope that once it did disperse work could begin on reversing the transformations done to them so 'everything could go back to normal'. Personally she wasn't all that in favor of things going back to normal since she liked the new her and, in her opinion, the skills they'd inherited from their Halloween costumes were assets not a sort of virulent disease. With the exception of Willow, they were all now much better prepared to protect themselves from the demons and the vampires that were crawling about Sunnydale. Sure, it'd take a bit of practice and firsthand experience before it all clicked for real, but if the stories Xander had told her were true they'd have that time.
Of course Buffy and the others just went on about how there was more to what they'd inherited than just the skills. They'd inherited memories, personality fragments and traumas from their Halloween costumes that would begin to affect them sooner or later. Giles had pointed out that Hollywood and various other forms of fiction often omitted certain details when depicting the heroes of their tales such as their traumas and their flaws. It was, after all, more desirable to have a hero representing all the noble traits of man without any sign of weakness or defect. The Watcher had then told a somewhat censored story of how some members of the Council, both remarkable as well as less so, had been damaged by fighting the good fight both mentally as well as physically. She knew it was all for the purpose of scaring her, or at least making her less interested in keeping what she'd inherited from Taki.
All it'd done was make it clear that without the skills and all the rest the trauma she'd receive fighting the good fight would be that much worse.
A heart hardened by experience, even if it wasn't your own experience, could take a hit much better than one that had never truly set foot on the battlefield.
For her, training up and joining her sister was a foregone conclusion since there was no way she could see herself living a normal life while others fought and died. She wanted to help in any way that she could and, if that couldn't be with the fighting, then she'd try to content herself with being a member of the support staff. So the bottom line was that, whether she had them now or later, she was going to get hit with the rough stuff one way or another.
Better to get it over with now than put off the inevitable.
Too bad most of the others didn't see it that way.
"Sadly… I do not," Giles said, regret lacing every word. "I had hoped after Halloween that without an external source to sustain it the chaos magic engulfing Sunnydale would dissipate in short order. It has not."
"Why not?" Buffy asked, sounding distressed as usual at the answer. "It should've gone away a little bit by now!"
She'd been forced to listen, albeit without her sister knowing, to Buffy pining over her loss of a 'normal life' when she got Called over a year now.
She could probably do a decent impersonation by now.
"I was befuddled by this as well since the natural arcane currents should have had some effect on the chaos magic in Sunnydale by now," Giles replied, taking his glasses off and starting to clean them. "Instead I discovered something different."
Not good.
"Well, don't hold us in suspense, Giles. What'd you find?" Xander asked, sitting a little straighter in his seat.
"While I am have not been able to irrefutably confirm this, what evidence I have uncovered indicates that… you six are the reason," Giles replied before visibly bracing himself for the backlash to come.
"WHAT!?" everyone but her exclaimed in shock and outrage.
"From what I have uncovered, Ethan used the Roman deity Janus for his spell and, while the two faced god can be considered a god of chaos, it is more accurate to say that his domain is of divisions and transitions," Giles explained, doing his best to focus on his cleaning rather than anyone else. "As is the case with all other deities, they derive their strength from events in the mortal realm that fall under their purview. Whether you realize it or not, you six have, from a certain point of view, become the walking embodiments of his aspects."
"A certain point of VIEW?" Cordy snapped, looking like she was greatly unimpressed with this briefing so far.
Something Giles picked up on rather easily.
"Y-yes, well, each of you are a division of sorts between your costume's personae and your true selves," Giles explained, putting his glasses back on. "And whether you realize it or not, the inheritance you received from them has affected how you would have otherwise would have acted in the presence of day to day stimuli. A transition, if you will, from your previous path of life to the new one you are now on."
"Soooo… what? Janus is keeping the chaos mojo going so he can have a never ending buffet?" she asked, tossing in a relevant question.
"Not… quite. Shortly after the beginning of A.D., it is said that deities from all the pantheons around the world withdrew from the mortal world. Before then they frequently descended from their realms to mingle with mortals and seek ways of amusing themselves," Giles replied with a negative shake of his head. "No true explanation was given but it was theorized that it would have taken a power greater than all of them combined to force such a withdrawal. As such I cannot believe that this unknown power would permit continued interference from Janus after the spell itself was terminated."
"So something else is keeping the chaos magic in Sunnydale," Willow said, her educated mind no doubt working on some possibilities.
"Indeed. While I am still investigating some preferable possibilities, the six of you are the likely sources," Giles said as his words settled into the minds of those present. "Somehow Janus must have induced a sort of symbiotic connection between each of you and the remnants of his power that linger in Sunnydale. With every deviation from the path you otherwise might have taken and the more the division between your original selves and your costume inheritance lingers, the more the ambient energy retains its strength."
"So we'll just get back on the right path and…and…" Buffy said, charging forward like usual but falling flat halfway through.
"And mix the two sides in our heads into one?" she asked rhetorically with a roll of her eyes. "Nice plan. Problem is if we mix the two minds together it'll be impossible to act like we would've if Halloween had never happened. We wouldn't know what we would've or wouldn't've done."
"I am afraid she is correct," Giles said with genuine remorse. "Janus cleverly made certain that the very methods by which we could disperse the chaos energy would only make matters worse."
"So we take the risk and get out of Sunnydale for a day or two," Buffy said, not willing to let go of the possibility of reversion. "Even if we are putting out chaos mojo ourselves, it can't be much. We get clear of the chaos pile, you work your magic and we're back in time for classes on Monday."
"Buffy, it is not that you are putting out say a cigar's worth of chaos 'smoke' a day and it's lingering," Giles said, trying to convey the truth as gently as possible. "It's more akin to an eternal fire being lit in a fireplace with a clogged up chimney. Multiply that by six and, well… you get the idea."
Given the devastated looks on Buffy, Willow and Cordelia's faces, it was her opinion that the Watcher's technique could use some work.
"I know this is not what you wanted to hear, any of you, but it is the truth," Giles said with remorse. "I will continue my investigation to learn more of the fine details but the overall conclusion is undeniable."
Silence reigned in the library and as she looked at the faces of each person present she got a feel for how they were handling the news.
Predictably her sister was angry and distraught at having been dragged even further from her concept of a 'normal life'.
Xander looked a little disappointed but otherwise fine with staying as he was and that was understandable, since it meant he could contribute more to fighting the fight.
Her mother placed a comforting hand on her shoulder as well as Buffy's while wearing a 'we will get through this together' expression.
Willow looked a little sad but seemed like she had been compensated somewhat with her increased scientific knowledge.
Cordelia, on the other hand… well, smoking volcano seemed the most appropriate comparison.
"Anyone know what can kill a god?" Cordy asked, finally settling on a course of action.
"What?" Giles asked, unprepared for the question.
"What. Can. Kill. A. God?" Cordy replied, spelling out her earlier inquiry. "Are we talking a sword made out of an uber rare rock or just a really big explosion?"
"W-well… traditionally… a-a deity can only be harmed and possibly killed through the use of magic or the proper application of a substance that is toxic to them. One such method would be the mythical Hind's Blood Dagger that was said to be coated with the blood of a rare mystic animal and could kill a god," Giles replied, almost reflexively providing the answer. "Why do you ask?"
"Simple. I'm gonna find this dagger or something like it, track down Janus and tell him that if he doesn't undo what he's done, I'm going to let him feel what dying is like," Cordy replied, looking deadly serious about her plans.
"M-M-Miss Chase, I understand your displeasure, but challenging a deity is no small feat," Giles said, shocked and clearly against the cheerleader's course of action. "For one thing people have been searching for god killing tools for centuries, with most of the more infamous ones still being undiscovered. Those that have been found are in the possession of some of the most formidable mystics and organizations on the planet secure in heavily guarded locations or in nigh invulnerable vaults. Then there's even successfully transitioning to the realm where Janus' true form resides and fighting him when he's no doubt become quite strong with the abundance of change and division these days."
"It's not very realistic, Cordy," Xander said, adding his voice to the argument. "The hand we've been dealt is a bit shitty but going after Janus and threatening to kill him unless he fixes us? It's a bit out of our league."
"Zatknis'!" Cordy bit out, glaring at Xander. "You don't know what it's been like for me! You got some stuff from a deserter and a mercenary! I… I got enough baggage to put me in therapy until I'm fifty and I'm only JUST keeping it together. She was an assassin for YEARS before becoming a hero, Xander! The 'Red Room' trained her to be a killer, to do so without pity or remorse, and that training NEVER left her no matter how many years passed. The only thing that kept her on the straight and narrow afterwards was her will and her friends!"
To anyone that looked at Cordy they could tell that the girl thought she was sorely lacking both departments and that she feared becoming an uncaring murderer to faceless employers. From that perspective she could understand why the girl wanted to be rid of her Halloween inheritance, even if the memories she'd inherited from Taki weren't quite as traumatic as Cordelia's apparently were. Still, that didn't change the fact that tracking down the means to kill a god, finding said god and then engaging the god for the purpose of killing them, was not something just anyone could do.
It took people of legendary skill armed with weapons that were nearly impossible to replicate either due to the absence of required materials or craftsmen capable of making a masterful piece of work.
"You have both. You're the queen of Sunnydale high school and you've helped us when you didn't need to against things that'd make most people shit their pants," Xander said with honesty and a touch of charisma. "As for friends… well, we might not be to that point yet but I'd say we've got a solid foundation to build it on. We're all stuck with baggage we never asked for and there's no one else that'll understand that better than the people in this room right now. We'll get through this and come out the stronger for it."
"Damn straight!" she chimed in, throwing in her confidence in the group's ability to overcome daunting odds.
"Language!" Mom chastised from her position like a parent was expected to.
Rolling her eyes at the warning, she had to wonder how long her mother would keep that up. Combining her more mature body with the additional experiences of Taki, she was hardly the same kid she'd been before. She was well on her way to becoming a deadly badass bitch and, once Xander got up to speed, the two of them would be an unbeatable combination.
Unbeatable with benefits if I have any say in things, she thought with a mental grin that would've triggered frowns of suspicion if she'd done it out in the open.
Spike's Warehouse
A Week Later, Afternoon
Spike's POV
"Read it again," he ordered the spectacled vampire trembling before him.
"Well, I'm not sure. It could be, uh..." Dalton said his unease causing him to stutter a bit. "…deprimere... ille... bubula... linter."
Picking up a nearby dictionary, he thumbed through the pages looking for the words the recently turned vampire had spat out.
What he found did not fill him with confidence.
"Debase, the beef, canoe," he said before looking at Dalton, stone faced. "Why does that strike me as not right?"
Before the fellow vampire could reply he used the dictionary as a blunt object to strike the incompetent on the head, sending the fledgling to the floor.
It was infuriating! The first real lead they had on a way to restore Dru to full health since they'd arrived in Sunnydale and it was coming out as gibberish! It wasn't like he was being an unreasonable vampire. He'd known coming in that it would not be easy. Nevertheless he'd expected there to be at least SOME progress when suitably talented people were brought around to his side of the tracks. Instead Dalton had been at it for the last week, ever since that bit at the club had turned into a cluster fuck, and THIS was all he had to show for it!
"Spike, come dance?" Dru said from her standing position off to the side.
"Give us some peace, would you?" he asked with angry rhetoric. "Can't you see I'm working?"
Dru cringed and withdrew from him instantly, causing him to feel a sorry for letting his frustration overflow onto her. Moving to her side, he took her by the hand before guiding her to a comfy seat and sitting her down nicely.
"Oh, forgive me! You know I can't stand to see you like this," he said trying to apologize to the love of his unlife. "We're running out of time. It's that bloody Slayer and her friends! Their new gun fetish is muckin' up the works!"
He might have been understating things a little.
Since the mess at the vampire fan club the game in Sunnyhell had changed with the Slayer and her chums beginning to use more and more modern hardware to do their slaying. You would think if a group of people were running about town shooting things the local bobbies would get off their fat arses and do something about it! But no, they were as incompetent as they were fat and the few slim ones had probably bought their badges rather than actually earning them. He'd seen the local papers but they were writing off the shooting as 'gang members on PCP fighting for turf' like they always did regarding things that disrupted the sleepy town's peace and quiet.
What had made Sunnyhell a perfect feeding ground for demons was now proving to be effective in helping the Slayer's team stay one step ahead of the law.
Because of this, though, it was getting harder and harder for the boys to get whatever it was that Dalton requested night to night, not to mention getting a good bite to drink.
"And then there's this bloody manuscript that's supposed to have your cure in it!" he said, pointing at the offending piece of literature. "It reads like gibberish and even big brain Dalton can't figure it out!"
"Shh, shh. You'll make it right," Dru said, comforting him during his time of duress. "I know."
Petting her head a few times, he turned back to Dalton, hoping the moron had experienced an epiphany or something.
"Well. Come on, now," he said expectantly. "Enlighten me."
"Uh, well, it looks like Latin, but it's not. I-I'm not even sure it's, it's a language, actually, I..." Dalton said in a manner that made clear he knew EXACTLY what his position was at the moment.
"Then MAKE IT A LANGUAGE!" he demanded, slamming his hands onto the table. "Isn't that what a transcriber does?!"
"Well, not exactly…" Dalton said before thinking better of it.
Too late.
"I want the cure," he said in no uncertain terms before lifting the vampire up to eye level.
"Don't…" Dru warned from her chair.
"Why not? Some people find pain-" he said before punching Dalton in the stomach, "-very inspirational."
"He can't help you," Dru said as she draw cards out of a box that rested on a small table by her chair. "Not without… the key."
"The key?" he asked before his mind saw through the cryptic to the truth.. "You mean this book is in some kind of code?"
"Yes," Dru replied, smiling back at him.
Looking at Dalton for a bit more solid confirmation, the vampire nodded and didn't seem to be doing so just to keep from being dusted. Dropping the fool to the floor, he moved over to Dru, hoping to get some more clues about how to solve his current headache. Seeing her pull another card before handing it to him, he took it and turned it over to reveal a mausoleum on it.
"Is that where we'll find this key?" he asked, hoping for a clear answer.
Or at least as clear as Dru ever got that is.
"Yeah!" Dru said with increased energy that he took to be a good sign.
"I'll send the boys pronto to pick it up!" he declared, overjoyed at this development.
After all, it was one of the best things to happen since hitting the Hellmouth months ago.
"You might want to rethink that, Mister Pratt," said an entirely too cheerful voice from one of the shadowed doors of his lair.
Turning towards the voice, he saw a man in his late forties or early fifties standing there, wearing a sixties style suit and a 'Leave it to Beaver' smile on his face. With a look he told two of his minions to dispose of the human since he was in no mood to be gainsaid at the moment and he didn't like the idea of just anyone being able to walk into his lair uninvited.
"Ontbranden," the man calmly spoke before both minions burst into blue flames, crumbling to so much smoking ash on the floor.
Well, that was something you didn't see every day even if you were someone like him.
"I learned that one from a German warlock who showed up in Sunnydale soon after World War Two," the man said, his smile never leaving his face but gaining a little edge to it. "Thought he could rebuild the Third Reich here in secret before conquering America. He was resourceful but a little too fond of the sound of his own voice. Fortunately some Black Mites down the gullet solved that particular flaw and the problem he posed."
He'd heard about Black Mites.
Nasty buggers that usually lived where no light could reach and anyone stupid enough to bring some to their territory was reduced to bones in short order.
"Now, I understand you came to Sunnydale in the hopes of restoring your undead paramour to full vampiric health. I have to say I'm touched to see such devotion," the man said, letting his eyes drift a bit. "And indeed the writings of Du Lac most likely have what you want. However sending your minions to collect the needed decoder would risk tipping your hand to Miss Summers and her group."
He growled a bit at the mention of the Slayer and her crew.
He wanted to believe that even with their new approach to demon slaying it was possible to operate in Sunnydale without being seen. The town might not be very large by anyone's standards but it was still quite a bit of ground for three groups of two to cover every night end to end. It'd be made especially hard for the White Hats, since they had to avoid being seen by the sheep living in Sunnyhell as well as the few cops that were out and about.
Still, the blonde Slayer had proven herself to be atypical of her breed and the new wrinkle thanks to Halloween made things even more unpredictable.
"You're takin' a risk yourself coming to see me," he said, not allowing any weakness on his part to show. "Why is that?"
"Because I believe we can help each other, Mister Pratt," the man replied, focusing on him once more. "You want the Cross of Du Lac to decode his manuscript and I want Miss Summers, along with her allies, neutralized. With a little cooperation, we'll both get what we want."
"Cooperation usually requires both sides bring something to the bargaining table. I've got me and my boys," he said, loosely gesturing to the vampires standing throughout the lair. "What've you got?"
"Funny you should ask that question," the man said before snapping his fingers.
One after another newcomers appeared and he could tell right away that they weren't normal.
A man with the eyes of a lizard fading into existence, with his abnormally long tongue hanging out.
With the rapid flutter of two sets of wings a thing that looked to be half man and half wasp settled to the ground, coming down from the roof supports.
A section of the floor began to melt away and a fiery humanoid beast pulled itself out, reminding him of the depictions of Surtur, especially with the fire bit.
Then a single vine slithered beneath the gap that existed between the floor and the door, soon followed by many more. When they numbered enough they began to weave together until they formed something that would've fit the name 'Father Nature' to a T.
The last to appear looked the most human of the lot but every instinct he had as a master vampire was telling him that this was a trick. The female that took the position of leader in front of the previous four screamed predator, screamed threat, even though she was only calmly looking at him.
Put all five of them together and the unknown man brought quite the asset to the venture.
Perhaps too good an asset especially at the end should any 'loose ends' need to be tied up.
"Interesting freak show you've got there," he said calmly as he lazily took a seat in a nearby chair. "Can't say I recognize the species of any of them."
"They're… one of a kind. A little something I cooked up in the cauldron after Missus Summers and Mister Harris showed that modern weaponry weren't as useless as I'd thought," the man said with a bit of pride. "Some of my best work, I think. They were deadly enough when they were merely human. With the mystic enhancements I've made to each of them, I can think of quite a few uses for them."
I'll bet you do, he thought without giving what was going on in his head away. Most times hiring muscle like this costs a pretty penny. Making'em probably cost a small fortune.
No one went to that expense unless they were expecting to get their investment back at least threefold, and in Sunnydale the currency of greatest value was power. Power created fear, could be used to gain wealth and when the need arose it could eliminate enemies who dared to get in your way. As a master vampire of no small reputation, only a few if any vampires who'd been willing to talk back to him when he'd first arrived.
He'd gotten rid of those wankers pretty quickly and viciously.
Good fun that.
Now of course there were some local demons that it just wasn't smart to push your luck with, even if you were the Big Bad like him. This guy in front of him, though, he just might try to go all in with the freaks he'd made.
"So… what? Your freaks run interference for me so I can get the decoder and cure Dru?" he asked, trying to get a feel for just how much risk he'd be taking on.
"Basically. As I am sure you can understand my 'subordinates' are a little too high profile to find and keep track of Miss Summers and her friends themselves. That is where you come in," the man replied, his sitcom smile still in place. "Vampires are rather plentiful on the Hellmouth and more than a few might get it into their heads to make a run at Miss Summers or her allies to make a name for themselves. None of them will think anything's amiss, even if your minions are detected."
"You're forgetting the Slayer's 'see vamp, slay vamp' impulses," he pointed out with a bit of reluctance. "It's taken me a while to put a decent crew together. I'm in no mood to start from scratch."
"Yes, the young Slayer does have something of an impulse control problem, but luckily for you she also has something of a weak work ethic. Despite being Called to hunt and kill demons, she only ever applies herself when a supernatural event is dropped in her lap. Otherwise she pretty much ignores it," the man pointed out, showing a bit of disapproval at the Slayer's flaws. "If your minions are spotted, simply have them run away and I doubt she will pursue unless they give her a reason to, such as mentioning your name or hinting at some greater plan being in motion."
He did have to admit that the blonde Slayer wasn't wound quite as tightly as the others he'd fought and his research on her leading up to Halloween indicated a more casual attitude to her Calling. While it'd be a blow to his crew's pride, he could see how running away after being spotted might work out. He'd have to serve the boys a bus of Happy Meals with legs as compensation but they'd accept it and everything would go back to normal.
"And when my boys have pinned down where they all are… then what?" he asked, wanting to know a little more of the other man's plans.
"Then my 'subordinates' will move in one to a White Hat and remove them from the game, as they say," the man replied, keeping the details close to his chest. "Can't have word getting around that guns and bombs work on demons, can we?"
So the man was interested in maintaining the status quo.
He could work with that.
"Well then, mate, I'd say we have an understanding," he said pleasantly with a mirroring smile before letting his anger filled game face come out to play. "Just keep in mind that if you double cross me, I'll have your guts for garters. Understand?"
"Quite clearly, Mister Pratt," the man replied with a bit of predator leaking through the sitcom visage.
No ponce beneath that mask, that's for sure.
With that the five freaks and their boss left, leaving him to hash out the details with his boys. Most of them had heard what'd been said but there were a few out hunting that'd have to be brought into the game. Once they were he'd set them on finding and following the Slayer as well as her pals.
They'd have to be careful, though.
The Slayer might not have the drive to chase running prey but there was no telling what the others might do.