Author: Rabid Squirrel
Title: "Murphy's Law"
Disclaimer: If I actually owned BTVS, would I bother to write fanfiction? Seriously, Buffy and co. are owned by Joss Whedon, Kazui Productions, Mutant Enemy, 20th Century Fox, and UPN, sick bastards all of them.
Summary: Bad guys, good guys, Armageddon. Get the picture?
Spoilers: Thru season 6, though my selective memory allows me to edit out or rewrite certain unsavory aspects.
Rating: R, for violence, strong language, and perverse sexual content.
Dedication: To Babette: Though I don't remember you, I'm better off for having known you.
Anti-Dedication: To Joss, for betraying all B/Xer's; and Marti, for her uninspired story arcs and blatantly inconsistent characterizations. It's almost a relief that it's coming to an end. Almost.
Feedback: Constructive criticism, advice, and words of encouragement are all accepted. So are bribes, tributes, and human sacrifices. All flames will be turned back on their originator. Burn, baby, burn!
Words to live by: "I don't get it. I finally did a job where I wasn't lazy, stupid, or corrupt, and I'm gonna get killed for it." Homer Simpson
Chapter 12: "When In Doubt, Look to the Nearest Bad Guy"~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ann Arundel County, Maryland
Monday, 0845 Hrs
14 hrs, 45 minutes, 36 seconds, and counting. He'd spent the majority of that time locked inside the reinforced concrete vault, buried deep within the black steel and glass structure that served as the headquarters of the NSA/CSS –the National Security Agency/Central Security Service. Of course, time was a somewhat of a relative concept where he was concerned, given that he'd spent the last ten years of his life as a professional student, the first four as an undergraduate at Cal Tech, the subsequent four as a graduate student and doctoral candidate at MIT, and the last two honing his craft at the National Cryptologic School, undoubtedly the most exclusive of the three. And though he had advanced degrees in both theoretical mathematics and string theory, he presently functioned more or less as a run-of-the-mill cipher clerk, albeit one with a super-grade civil-service rank and the salary to go with it.
Foregoing the bottle of No-Doze stashed away in his pocket, he sipped patiently at his bottle of Cherry Coke, waiting expectantly as the Cray mainframe ran through a complex set of algorithms, translating the intercepted string of 0's and 1's into something slightly more recognizable. After an interminable pause, the flat screen on his Silicon Graphics Workstation blinked to life, displaying the first few lines of decrypted text. What he saw held little meaning for him, though, given the priority of the intercept, it must of have meant something to someone:
Classified Top Secret / Eyes Only – Director
Voice Transcript
10-01-02; 06:38:02
Echelon 06875775
SIGINT_PRI_1.0
Satellite Telephone Intercept – decrypted text message to follow:
_____________________________________________________________________________
[Voice Print Unknown; Assign Subject A]: **…advise current op status of Longbow units. **
[Voice Print Authentication; Subject Stryker]: **OPCent offline. Longbow 1 not reporting; 2 and 3 at 50% strength. Readiness level below minimum operational parameters. [Pause] We're dropping like flies out here, Six. What the bloody hell's going on? **
[Subject A]: **presently unable to ascertain nature of threat. Confidence is high, repeat, confidence is high of level 1 attack. Believe INFOSEC compromised at all levels; primary communication channels not secure. Use of random ciphers authorized. Institute Condition 1 protocols and await further instructions on my authority. **
[Subject Stryker]: **Confirm Directive A. Implement failsafe protocol and stand by for orders **
Transmission terminated.
End MESSAGE: 10-01-02; 0640:06
The cryptanalyst read over the transcript twice, visually checking the clear text message against the encrypted printout, before ripping the latter from the laser printer and placing it in a sealed burn bag. He printed the text message, flagging it with a priority 1 label before sliding it carefully into a folder. He then turned and handed it to the uniformed man standing behind him.
"So what's this all about, Major?"
The usually stoic officer chuckled slightly in response. "You know Reese, I once asked the Colonel that very same question. You know what he told me?"
"Don't ask!" both men answered in unison, laughing at the popular in-house joke.
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1216 Crawford Street
Sunnydale, CA
Monday morning, 0845 hrsShe'd tried knocking; that hadn't worked. The doorbell and cell-phone had yielded similar results. Something was definitely not right with this picture. Puzzled, Dawn walked over to the attached 2-car garage, peeking through the dirt-encrusted windows. Oddly enough, both cars were still inside.
This can't be good, Dawn thought, jumping in surprise as she felt something brush up against her leg. She looked down, afraid of what she would see; much to her relief, it was only a cat. Jesus, Dawn – edgy much?
"Hey there Mr. Bigglesworth," she said sweetly, greeting Stacey's mischief-prone pet. "I don't suppose you have any idea what's going on, do you?" If Mr. Bigglesworth knew anything, he wasn't talking. The tomcat gave Dawn a perfunctory look, finding little of interest in the teenage girl, then turned and darted off into the bushes, hot on the trail of yet another hapless squirrel.
Alone once more, Dawn stalked back across the sidewalk to the front door. She glanced over her shoulder casually, ensuring that no neighbors were watching. Then, giving in to her repressed criminal instincts, she grabbed the doorknob firmly in hand, giving it a twist on the outside chance it might be unlocked. Much to her surprise – and dismay – the door swung wide open. Ignoring the little voice inside her head – the one telling her that this was quite possibly the biggest mistake since New Coke – Dawn crossed the threshold and walked inside. After all, it wasn't really breaking-and-entering if the door was open…was it?
Pulling the door shut behind her, Dawn boldly stepped into the open foyer and took a quick look around. Aside from the unlocked door and the overwhelming silence, nothing seemed overtly out of place. "Stace," she called out hesitantly, her voice barely more than a whisper. "You here?" There was no response.
Seeing nothing of particular interest in the hallway or the adjoining living room, Dawn ventured further into the house, her nose detecting the unmistakable aroma of freshly brewed coffee. She followed the scent to the kitchen, peering furtively around the corner of a wall into the newly renovated room. As with the rest of the house, nothing here seemed out of place. The counter, as always, was spotless, its stainless-steel surface polished to a gleaming shine. The industrial-sized sink imbedded within the countertop sat empty, unmarred by the usual remnants of a hurried weekday breakfast.
Now more than just a little concerned, Dawn increased her pace, trotting to the back stairs and bounding up the spiral wooden staircase two steps at a time. "Stacey, it's Dawn. Where the hell are you?" she called out, a sharp edge to her voice. Still, there was no answer. Expertly navigating the 90-degree corner at the top of the staircase, Dawn breezed past the bathroom and towel closet, not bothering to check either door. Directly in front of her, the door to Stacey's bedroom stood slightly ajar, bearing mute testimony to Dawn's suspicion that something was horribly wrong. Above all else, Stacey's room was her sanctuary, an oasis in the angst-laden drama of her teenage life; she never left the door open. Acutely aware of that fact, Dawn slowed, approaching the room cautiously, her ears straining to pick up any stray sound. Stopping in front of the door, she reached out, tentatively touching the faux brass handle with the tips of her fingers. As she slowly curled her hand around the polished metal fixture, she felt a warm, sticky residue fouling the inside surface. Dawn recoiled in disgust at the sensation, instinctively wiping her hand on the leg of her khakis. Her eyes grew wide as they took in the color of the offending substance. There was no mistaking it; she'd seen bloodstains too many times not to know.
Gathering what remained of her courage – despite of what she feared awaited her on the other side – Dawn pushed the door open further, its movement creating a slight whispering sound as the wood brushed lightly against the plush carpet. She slowly poked her head inside and looked around. To the uninitiated, the room looked as if a tornado had torn through it; random articles of clothing and countless pairs of shoes were haphazardly strewn about, and several glossy fashion magazines were littered about the floor, random pages torn from each issue. To Dawn, the room looked completely normal, at least where Stacey was concerned.
She stepped inside the bedroom, her breath now coming in staccato gasps. Despite the near eighty-degree temperature outside, a distinct chill permeated the room, causing the hair on her neck to stand on end. Dawn shivered involuntarily, wrapping her arms around herself in an unsuccessful attempt to fend off the goose bumps flooding her skin. She swore she could actually feel the weight of the air bearing down on her, could practically smell the stench of evil in the room. It was as if death itself were standing in the room beside her. Dawn had no idea how right she was.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Xander's Truck
En-route to Sunnydale High School
"They said what?" Xander screamed into the tiny Motorola, his white knuckles threatening to crack the fragile casing.
There was a pause on the other end as the man considered how best to respond. Xander Harris may well have been the most laid-back person on the face of the earth (the man had never met Daniel Osbourne), but over the past few months his increasing lack of patience had become legendary among his crew. "They…uh…. said it…um…might have been due to localized seismic activity."
The most laid-back man on the face of the earth was not the least bit placated. "Localized seismic activity? What the fuck's that supposed to mean? I didn't feel any goddamned earthquake!"
Fortunately for both of them, Xander couldn't see the other man's reaction, or the face he was making at the moment. "All I know is what the city engineers told me, Mr. Harris." And that, unfortunately, wasn't much.
Xander let it go for the time being. He took a deep breath. "All right, we'll worry about the cause later. Give me some good news, Roger. How extensive is the damage?"
"It's too early to tell," the other man admitted warily, wishing for the umpteenth time that he hadn't answered the telephone this morning. "Whatever happened, it took out a few load-bearing walls, collapsing the library floor and a portion of the roof. We're shoring up the basement supports as we speak, but there's still the matter of the crack in the foundation."
"The crack," repeated Xander, not really wanting to hear any more, but knowing that he would.
"Yeah, well, it's actually more of a hole. A really, really deep hole."
"What are we talking here? Five, ten feet? How far down does it go?"
The man on the other end of the line swallowed audibly. "I, uh, think it goes down all the way."
"All the way to what?" Xander demanded.
"China wouldn't be out of the question," his subordinate offered, hoping a little humor might alleviate the tension. It didn't.
"Jesus H. Christ…" Xander muttered to himself, the remainder of the epithet unintelligible to the man on the other end. It was then that he noticed the purse still lying on the seat next to him. "Dammit!"
"Excuse me, sir? I didn't catch that."
"It was nothing," Xander mumbled into the receiver. "Look, I've gotta take care of something. I'll be there in about twenty minutes. Until then, you're in charge. Don't fuck up." He hit the end button, not bothering to get an acknowledgement from the other end. Whipping a u-turn at the next intersection, he reversed course and sped back in the direction of Stacey's house. He really did not need this today.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
1216 Crawford Street
That same timeIf asked to name the top ten most frightening experiences of one's lifetime, it's highly unlikely that anyone would include among them something as mundane as the sound of a door closing. For Dawn Summers, however, that very event had just vaulted to number three on the list, trailing only an ill-conceived kidnapping by a pack of inept vampires, and an attempted sacrifice by an intemperate hell god.
She didn't turn around, not at first. Dawn knew who was in the room with her, or more accurately, who it used to be. The voice she heard may have belonged to her friend, but she knew it wasn't her, not anymore. It was that thought, and not the chill in the air, that made her blood run cold.
"Who are you?" she asked, her voice conspicuously devoid of emotion.
Behind her, the half-breed demon smiled, wearing the same lipstick Stacey had worn the previous night. In fact, everything it now wore had belonged to Stacey, including the body it presently occupied. Of course, the girl no longer had any use for it; not where she was.
"You know who I am, Dawn."
Dawn still refused to face the demon. "I know who you were. What I want to know is who you are now."
Humans; they always had to make things difficult. "Does it really matter?"
Dawn clenched her teeth, her hands curling into fists as she fought the overwhelming urge to rip out the demon's heart with her bare hands. "It matters to me."
The demon-formerly-known-as-Stacey shook her head in amusement, almost feeling sympathy for the other girl. "There's no point in dragging this out, sweetie. You're only delaying the inevitable."
That wasn't exactly a revelation to Dawn, though she had bigger fish to fry at the moment. "Just answer the question."
The hint of a smile flashed across the vampire's face, which, for the first time in its afterlife, betrayed signs of its true nature. "If that's how you wanna play it, kid," Stacey admonished, donning her game face in its entirety. You asked me who I am, what I am?" She paused, carefully choosing her words, something the real Stacey had never taken the time to do. "I'm the future."
Her ostentatious display was lost on Dawn, who still refused to face her, if only to buy herself a little time. "What you are is full of shit," Dawn informed the demon masquerading behind Stacey's face. "You're an infection, a sexually transmitted disease. Nothing more than that."
That response occasioned a knowing smile. "If that's what you have to tell yourself, you go right ahead. But in the end, we both know better. I don't have a name, Dawnie, because I have no need for one. I'm the boogeyman, the thing that keeps you and your kind awake at night. And I'm not alone; there are more like me, a lot worse than I am, and they're all coming..." Stacey allowed her voice to trail off, her gaze following Dawn's as the girl shifted her head slightly, glancing toward the single window in the bedroom. "Western exposure, Dawn," she reminded the girl. "Not gonna get the job done. You'd never make it anyway."
Running out of options, Dawn remained her defiant self. "You think you could at least have the courtesy to come up with something original? I mean, it's always: "I'm going to unleash hell on earth", or "I'm going to make history…end". After you hear it a few million times, it kind of loses the desired effect."
The vampire didn't respond, at least verbally. Dawn could just barely make out the creaking of the floor as the vampire closed the distance between them. A second later, she felt its cold, lifeless hands clamp down on her shoulders, causing her to shudder involuntarily.
"You know Dawn," vamp Stacey cooed softly as she leaned in closer, her tongue flicking lightly against the girl's ear lobe, reveling in Dawn's obvious discomfort. "Despite your attitude, I've always liked you. I mean, really liked you." Utterly repulsed, Dawn strained against the demon's grasp, grimacing visibly, both at Stacey's admission, and at the sensation of the monster's hands sliding down her body.
"Mom always told me it wasn't polite to play with my food, but I just can't help myself," she lamented, tormenting Dawn with every word. "You're so damn irresistible. Besides, mom's worm food now, so in retrospect I guess it really doesn't matter what she said."
Grinning like a Cheshire cat, Stacey hugged Dawn's body closer to her own, her arms encircling Dawn's as her spindly fingers played slowly across Dawn's slender torso, gently massaging the young girl's skin through the thin fabric of her cotton tank top. Her hands finally came to rest on Dawn's chest, lightly cupping the bottom of her taut breasts. "I just can't help myself, Dawnie," Stacey confessed, fingers still busy, her thumbs tracing feather light circles around Dawn's nipples, which, much to Dawn's chagrin, stood completely erect, though whether from the chill in the air or the physical stimulation, she wasn't sure. Either way, she was utterly mortified at the prospect.
The vampire continued her ministrations, molesting Dawn as she resumed her verbal taunts. "You know baby, it doesn't have to be this way," she offered, her mouth moving from Dawn's ear, returning to gently nibble at the nape of her neck. "It doesn't have to hurt at all," she purred, her hands sliding smoothly from Dawn's chest down to her hips, unclasping the buckle on her belt. "You might even like it. Whaddya say, Dawnie? Wanna give me your cherry?"
Dawn let her actions speak for her. She spun around suddenly, violently pulling away from the vampire's unnaturally strong grasp. Facing the demon for the first time, she glared at it, an unmistakable hatred burning in her eyes. Her voice trembled with rage as she said the words:
"You. Are. Not. Stacey."
Stacey pursed her lips, pouting silently at Dawn. "But I have all of her memories, sweetie. I know how she felt – about you, about her friends, about everything. I can taste the tears she shed as she lay drowning in a pool of her own blood, my sire still thrusting inside of her. " She winked cruelly at Dawn, feeding the girl's agony. "She liked it you know…the sex, the blood, the pain. I guess a part of her wanted it. And I have you to thank for that…Nibblet."
It was all too much for Dawn; her last shred of defiance collapsed as the horrible truth set in. She retreated one step, then another, staggering backward to the wall as her strength left her. She slid to the floor, tears streaming unabashedly down her cheeks. Dawn no longer cared whether she lived or died. At that moment, the only thing that mattered was that she'd failed her friend. She'd failed Stacey, failed to protect her, to warn her about him, and in doing so giving her a fighting chance. Now she was dead. And Dawn's sole consolation was that she wouldn't have to live with the guilt, at least not for long.
Stacey wasted no time. She advanced on Dawn quickly, eagerly anticipating her first kill. The symbolism was just too delicious to avoid, possibly even more so than the kill itself. After all, what better way to begin a new life than to destroy – literally – those things that bound you to the old one?
Reaching down, she grabbed a fistful of hair, wrapping her fingers around the long curls that Dawn now sported. With a feral growl, she yanked the listless girl to her feet, raising her to eye level. She leaned in close to Dawn, until their faces were only inches apart, close enough to feel the girl's halting breaths on her own room-temperature skin. Her stomach growling, Stacey hungrily eyed the tears cascading down Dawn's face, and, unable to fight the urge, reached out with her tongue, lapping at the girl's sorrow like a starving kitten. For her part, Dawn did nothing to resist, having long since accepted her fate.
Momentarily sated, Stacey pulled back. Garnering Dawn's undivided attention, the vampire extended her fangs, almost delirious with hunger. Seeing the defeated expression on Dawn's face, she couldn't resist one last taunt.
"If it makes you feel any better, Dawnie, this hurts me as much as it's about to hurt you." Without further ceremony, her head shot forward, a pair of oversized canines latching securely onto Dawn's slender neck, hungrily slurping the blood coursing through the girl's veins…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
End Chapter 12:
As always, feedback is not only appreciated, but also craved. Sorry folks, it's an addiction, and there's no 12-step program to treat it. So be kind and feed my habit.
Oh, and to the little jackass that spammed me: I don't think "StinkyStinkyStinkyStinky" qualifies as constructive criticism. A word of advice: Watch your ass, because I'm going to hunt you down, bitch-slap your parents, and give you a little attitude adjustment. Honestly, kid, if I really wanted to know your opinion, I'd tell you what it was.
Until next time,
Rabid Squirrel