Title: Chaos on the Hellmouth
Author name: Kunglou
Author email: AU
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Harry Potter had fielded and led vast armies, manipulated intergalactic wars and raised mankind to the heights of first ones but he had not actually existed until a chaos mage had sabotaged a Halloween on the hell mouth.
Disclaimer: I do not own either BTVS or Harry Potter and claim no rights to the copyrighted material. I am making no money off this story.
Author notes: Massively AU, OC, HP: A matter or Perception/BtVS/Bab5
If you are unfamiliar with the perception series I really recommend that you read the first two pieces for this piece to make sense. Keep in mind that Xander was possessed, his memories merged with the more dominant personality of Harry's.
Ch4 will resolve any remaining Bab5 cross. Further details will be filled in the previous works. This will clear room for the future intended crossover which I am sure you will all have guessed by now.
Ch4 – A Brewing Storm
"It is true that in the first place, demons owned this world. They lost it in a grand battle with the Emperor, and fight to this day to take it back again."
- from Emperor Taizu's Book written in 971
Neutral territory, boarder of Minbari space
Year 2340
John Sheriden slouched casually on the bridge of his personalized war cruiser as it drifted on a predetermined path through a demolished system at the edge of Minbari space, very close to the uncharted regions. 'Or at least, what was once Minbari space, we have been laying claim to increasing swathe of it as we've pushed the Minbari further towards their core worlds,' John though with amusement.
John contemplation the rubble outside of his cruiser, what used to be a large system of seven planets teaming with an industrialized society looking forward to expanding beyond their home system and answering the age old question of whether there existed life beyond the stars was now the largest asteroid field outside the galactic core.
They had made the mistake of picking sides in a war without winners. The Vorlon's and Shadows thought less of the younger races than his people did, and they had been responsible for more than a few extinctions of their own.
Both the Vorlons and the Shadows were as bad as each other in manipulating the younger races at the edges of their mighty and ongoing struggle and he refused to allow his people to become caught up in it, he doubted any of his order would. Though he feared that it was only a matter of time before the two technologically advanced giants turned their attentions to some new threats.
Within sensor range of his cruiser, drifted a Gaim destroyer, a Narn g´quan class heavy cruiser and a Yolu gun ship. An intimidating show of force in anyone's mind, Markab scatterguns, pulse cannons and some sort of energy weapon that he had seen strip a quarter mile of armor from a Dilgar military mobilization centre, reducing it to its constituent molecules, stood armed and locked on each other despite the seemingly friendly and diplomatic talks between the four races.
He would be worried if he had not mined the entire system with stealthily hidden gravimetric mines that would turn the surrounding area into a rarely seen singularity. Even then, he had the power to give them something they all desperately craved, or thought they did, and they were not about the attack him while he had leverage. Besides that, he was the only one that could escape this system unhindered. John doubted any of the younger races would start something.
He felt almost sorry for anyone who even thought about crashing this party, though he relished the fight that would eventuate. John frowned as he thought about the missed opportunity of organizing some raiders to really get to see the capabilities of those weapons for himself before he shook his head, he had more important things to worry about and he had faith in both the strength of his peoples magic and their technology, the cunning that went with it was pure jam.
John smiled cruelly as he brought his attention back to the three warships before him, born in 2215 to a muggle descended family, he had to fight and maneuver his way to the pinnacle of his society, making use of every scrap of cunning and skill he had. The lessons learned by his ancestor's six millennia of warfare helped enormously and during his lifetime his family had clawed their way to compete within the normally restricted domain of older pureblood families.
Compared to his earlier struggles, this standoff was insignificant he thought as he vainly tried to ignore the hole in his mind. A hole that he had been indirectly or directly responsible for, depending on how he justified his actions.
A member of secretive and illusive Order of lightening for decades, he had become used to his mind being linked to Harry Potters, the leader of the illusive and powerful order, and his magical core being caressed by the leader's overwhelming power. The loss of that feeling, the sudden hole in his mind at its absence, he knew would be being felt be the rest of the order and worse, they had less time to prepare for such a feeling. To them his sudden absence would be a shock and they would struggle to interpret its meaning.
It was…comforting to know that such a man existed and headed a powerful order that actively sought the improvement of the wizarding world and guided it's rapid and often ruthless development throughout an increasingly bloody and conflict ridden galaxy. The Order had been responsible for just as many extinctions and exterminations in their own way as the callous first ones had been, either through manipulations or direct action.
Something that he had become part of and seen the necessity of too often, it was something faced too often when you played in a sandpit with inferior races that spouted like weeds and had access to too much power.
He had been honored to have been approached, in the last years of the Dilgar extermination, by a man that had raised the wizarding world to such heights. Harry Potter was a legend, almost a god in some eyes, and the invitation to join his group, to let go of the old Byzantine nature of the clan and guild structure of the wizarding world and achieve something amazing and visionary was too good to pass up.
Beside's the honor, John saw it as a mighty challenge. Even then, rumors of 'giants among the stars' and races that had been conquered and exterminated in mere days had abounded. The threat facing his people was greater than ever and matching his skills against the greatest challenges yet to be faced alongside the greatest of their people would prove him superior than all those naysayer's that had littered his career. 'At least those that were still alive,' he thought with a sudden and ruthless grin.
He would have to leave his command behind and his men would remain with his family since only the leader of the order knew how many members there were or indeed who they were, but such things hadn't mattered to him as he assumed his new role with relish.
The technologies and resources available to him after he joined had dwarfed that which had been available to him as a mere three star general of an alliance of new families. The wonders that he had seen through the following decades and the deals he had been a part of to raise his people to even giddier heights had been worth the sacrifice's and the isolation.
In fact, if he had wanted to, if it was required, he could have a fleet built for his personal use. Such power was heady and only restrained by Harry and his careful selection of members. His connection to the leader was not only for comfort, support and reassurance but also to ensure loyalty.
That connection with Harry Potter and the ever greater challenges he had faced and beaten had been enough for him, until he had started to become aware of a more sinister plot. One that threatened to destabilize the galaxy even further and could potentially crush any advances his people had made against the lesser races. He could see his people starting down the road in which dozens of other extinct races had traveled and Harry Potter, the leader of an order that dedicated themselves to the empire that his people had carved out – was at its centre.
Not as an instigator, but rather as a target.
John Sheriden had always been highly skilled in the mind arts, it was what attracted the Orders attention in the first place, and with Harry's personal tutoring - he was always amazed at the leaders power and the depth of his understanding about magic, and decades to concentrate his studies and powers his skill had ballooned. Decades that had been gifted to him as a member of the order; he was not blind to the fact that members often lived far longer than the average witch or wizard.
With his skills in the mind arts, he began to sense a flaw in the previously comforting mental link that connected them and that had shown him potentially the greatest challenge to his skills and ruthlessness in his life. The power that had previously been so comforting now seemed less, and further investigation revealed that someone had breached his leader's defenses and waited for the perfect bait and opportunity to set his trap. In turn bringing the whole system and his people down with him.
John had little doubt that without the Orders sometimes subtle leadership, his people would soon face a united alien threat that they had little ability to survive, they had reveled in their superiority and played the lesser races against each other for too long and Harry was at the heart of the order. In fact, without Harry to continuously escalate the Shadow and Vorlon conflicts, the fear of them turning against Wizarding society was vastly increased as well.
Only his relative closeness to Harry, particularly over the last three decades had allowed him to sense the trap and even then, he had been unable to find out those behind it, only that it had existed unsprung from before he had joined the Order. He doubted that any alien had the ability or the influence to be able to set such a subtle trap. Mere telepathy was not enough, even P12's or greater, a greater understanding of the mind and its relationship with the human spirit and magical core was also needed.
The traitor had to be a fellow wizard or witch, almost certainly an unknown member of their order and the planned attack was horrifying.
At a pre-ordained signal, a wedge would split Harry's symbiotic intelligence from both his mind and his core. Given that it had been integrated and bound centuries previously, the effects of such an attack would be devastating and death would be the least worrisome outcome. The protection that Harry had provided since before they had risen from the mudball that had been his home would be stripped from wizarding society and his loss would be felt through out the Order and the empire.
Harry would have no warning, and even in the unlikely event he prevented or defeated the attack, and John could not discount the possibility, Harry was nothing if not incredibly powerful and his understanding of magic surely could not be matched, the no doubt public nature of the attack and it's more sinister effects would ultimately lead to their people's extinction.
His loyalty and commitment to the wizarding society that had begun to walk the stars under their own power, the order of lightening and Harry's position and safety were as firm and idealistic as they had always been, if slightly tempered by the gritty realism and cynicism of war and politics within the shadows between the greater powers of the universe.
It had led him down a slightly different path than he had ever imagined and one certainly many of his order would have thought treasonous at best. He shuddered to think what Harry would have done had he discovered beforehand what he had planned, for he would have to attack his teacher if he were to successfully be able to subvert the attack and render it into a strength for his mentor. John had no illusions that catching his teacher off guard was the only way he would have a sliver of success, and he had been right.
Two flickering jump gates opened up, obliterating the rubble and space debris that littered the system and that drifted too close to the event horizon of the jump points, spitting out the remainder of the once proud Minbari fleet. Few of the warships that remained, remained undamaged, the once unbeatable fleet had had its back broken. His people had trashed the once proud Minbari and even better, he smiled grimly, they had used the Centuari dogs to do it for them.
"You have lived up to your end of our agreement," an aged Minbari murmured next to his command chair, staring at the remainder of his people. His voice sounded bitter and the mistrust was evident in his voice. With the Minbari ships arriving here, there could be little doubt of the outcome of the battle for the old Minbari's home world.
"Of course I did," John sneered, suppressing his obvious distaste at the aliens present on his bridge. The consequences of what he had done hitting home even harder and the hole in his mind, the absence of Harry Potter's link, seemed to grow even more hollowed.
He allowed himself some manner of assurance that Harry was not dead or banished forever, and he would be back stronger than before. Not that he had told his alien allies that of course. He had manipulated them even as they thought they had finally found someone of power to betray his people. 'Pathetic,' he thought in disgust 'no wonder they cannot stand proudly amongst the stars. Even their attempts of subterfuge are transparent and incompetent, they wouldn't last a second in the family structure on Earth.'
"Then the destroyer of races is dead and we can rejoice," an artificial translator partially hid the beeps and clicks of the Gaim ambassador.
"With him finally gone, the Centauri will be easily rolled back. You have done a great thing John Sheriden," the Narn ambassador announced, the jubilance in his voice unmistakable. "A great thing and will be rewarded, the universe will indeed be a safer place and your name will be sung in songs for generations."
"Fools," he spat out. John's anger seemed to grow and his magic lashed out striking painfully and cruelly at the ambassadors, his temporary alien pawns. "Harry Potter may have been one man, but he created a system that flourished on conflict, on challenge for hundreds of years and will no doubt continue to do so. He may be gone, and with it his direct protection, but the effects of his absence will not be felt for decades, perhaps even centuries."
After all, he mused privately behind his mask of anger and impotent rage, Harry had vanished for years previously with no one being the wiser and it had been that fact, that had finally persuaded him as to his cause of action.
It would prove impossible, even with his enormous talent in the mind arts, to disable the trap completely. Instead he had decided to get within the trap and trigger it in his own time and with his own consequences. Finding out who was responsible was less important than that. Ultimately, it would be Harry that faced them and addressed the weakness in his defenses.
And if he could not, then he was not worthy of returning from wherever he had been sent. All John knew was that, the experience would temper Harry's excesses and strengthen his weakness. 'Relative weakness,' John though ironically.
Instead of spliting Harry's symbiotic intelligence from both his mind and his core as the originator of the trap had intended for it to do, he had shunted him into another universe to give his leader time to rest after centuries of warfare and to gain new skills and power. It was an action that strained his own cores ability to manipulated causality, but it was an action that would highlight the traps danger to Harry, his weaknesses and his need to overcome them. It would be up to him from there.
"Harry Potter," John announced slowly "is a combination of religious and military leader to our people. When his absence is noticed, our people may well go mad. You may yet regret all of you, what you have asked for. Still, I have delivered and received what I wanted, now get off my ship."
With a flick of his hand, a hand that obscured the wand embedded into his forearm, he forced apparated the aliens from his bridge to their vessels. The cold, alien and disgustingly weak feel of their minds was starting to make him nauseous.
Staring out at the ruined system, he just hoped that Harry would return before the open war that they had manipulated between the Vorlons and Shadows turned the entire galaxy into rubble. His strength would be needed, and he hoped that his friend would forgive him from ripping him out of one universe and into another.
But until Harry returned to forgive him, he would no longer wear the Order vest, or its symbol. It reminded him too much of his betrayal and how it conflicted with his loyalties no matter how he justified his actions. His next challenge would be to find the traitor that was responsible for the initial trap. It would be the second greatest challenge of his life for he doubted he would ever be able to catch Harry Potter off guard again.
And perhaps, just perhaps it was time to have that fleet built.
"For years we've been paying other peoples' debts with our own money and blood, spending trillions of dollars and the lives of our young men and women, our son's and daughter's, our husband's and wife's, on conflicts that were not our own." President Jackson's voice echoed strongly over a crowd of loyal supporters in a mid morning address. The still air proved effective in carrying his booming voice without the use of a microphone and only the sharp clatter of camera's interrupted his address.
Dave smiled as the crowd roared in response and also support for the recently re-elected president's message as he paused his speech. Just over four years ago the 45th president to be, had run hard on an isolationist, grassroots and domestic issues focused campaign. It had proven immensely popular amongst a soaring foreign debt, failing health and education standards, climate change and an aging population.
"Over the last decade we have spent more money and focused more energy on the middle east, the Asia pacific and the African sub-continent than we have in our own backyards and our elderly, our children and the next generation has been paying for it and will continue to pay for it for decades to come. Unless we do something about it now!"
His confident stance and easy demeanor worked extremely well with the public and seemed to earn the trust of people he had never met. He was extremely photogenic and his message had proven so popular amongst voters that he had been returned to office with an increased majority. America had rarely seen such sustained voter participation or satisfaction ratings, and he liked to think that he played a significant role in that.
"Now, as you know, since first being elected just over four years ago now I have sought to change that. More of you are employed than any other time since post world war two, I have reduced unemployment to 4, our education and health standards continue to raise and the good times, while not here yet, are definitely approaching."
He had been a close ally and advisor to Senator Jackson years before he had decided to run for presidency and now that he had achieved that goal, he was one of the president's closest advisors. It was he, that had seen the way the winds were blowing during the thirty years that the Bush and Clinton families had controlled the Whitehouse and he had advised the then Senator to start gently pushing increasingly isolationist positions.
"Our position in the OECD rankings are no longer falling, we are making a comeback in a world were the American dream has been all but forgotten. No longer are people wondering who will replace America when our economy, our people stumble. Now we are once again heralded as world leaders. AS WE SHOULD BE!!"
When the opportunity arose to run for president arose, he had urged the senator to grab it. The presidential race was the most open for decades, the public the most disillusioned and disheartened in decades. World affairs seemed to be playing on everyone's mind and the problems seemed insurmountable, it had proven to be a perfect storm that had swept Lance Jackson into office despite his relative inexperience.
Almost immediately, plans for staged withdrawal from the worlds hotspots were dusted off, funds were scrutinized and re-appropriated and technology transfers to strategic interests were endorsed by the senate. Tax rates and red tape were slashed and a stagnating economy suddenly found itself being reinvigorated.
Results from those initial reforms were starting to take effect and now with an increased majority President Jackson's reforms could become embedded into the administration. It had taken these four years just to shift some back office bureaucrats and restructure private fiefdoms that had existed for longer than the last three presidents combined.
"I want to thank you all, from the bottom of my heart, for your help in this. Because, make no mistake. You are all part of making history in giving me the opportunity to raise America to the golden standards our founders envisaged. Standards that many past leaders seemed to lose sight of."
Foreign debt had halved, America's terms of trade was improving and productivity gains in health and science was finally taking effect. More than that, the money saved from staged military withdrawals from around the world was fueling a massive infrastructure program. It was everything they had envisaged together and the vision drew support across the country.
Dave looked up as a final wild cheer took place and his old friend finished his standard post election campaign trail speech. He had been making that one for weeks and it never failed to get the blood pumping and raise the audience's eyes towards the future in hope. The American dream was well and truly alive after decades of decline and stagnation. It was the biggest tragedy that the American public had become used to bumbling, inefficient and lying politicians with competing agenda's, at least in his term that had changed.
"As always, a great speech Mr. President," Dave said laughing as he gripped Lance's hand firmly before they were both hustled away by security.
"Don't you start Dave, all this was your idea more than it was mine. I could never have dreamed that we could change things so fast or so successfully, but you were truly visionary."
Dave smiled, it was an old argument between them, old friends that they were. He was the brains trust and held the experience but he lacked the ability to charm people the way Lance did. In that respect, they made the perfect team but the office of the president of the United States held room for only one. Dave didn't mind, he didn't think he could have lived in the glass bowl anyway.
"You heard about the Australians yet?" he asked as the both slid into the black Mercedes in the middle of the security convoy.
"No, are they still having problems with the Chinese?" Lance frowned in confusion. Ever since their Australian allies had 'encouraged' the small pacific nations to their north and east, small islands that they had previously dubbed the ring of instability, into their commonwealth they had been having problems with the other major powers in the south pacific.
A massive undertaking over the years to integrate the new nations into their society, aided by American technology, manpower and money had created an economy that upset the status quo in the region. In fact, the old island nations had quickly seen the benefit of becoming Australian citizens once they began to get access to a mature and established job market, social security and judiciary. The Chinese and Taiwanese who had long been used to playing political games of legitimacy unhindered in the area had not been happy.
He couldn't have been happier though, despite America's large investment and low interest loans to the new commonwealth of Australia, it had saved them billions in the region and gained them an ally to economically and militarily balance China and India. Even better, having learnt the harsh consequences over the last century of sharing technology with fair weather allies, America could trust Australia implicitly. He doubted there existed a situation where they would raise arms against them or their interests, unlike some other past allies. The outcome was perfect from a foreign policy standpoint and helped enhance their ability to focus on their own country while expanding their influence abroad.
"Actually," Dave shook his head "it's the Indonesians. With such a rapid economic and military buildup in the new commonwealth of Australia, not to mention the undocumented access to our technology, they have been rabbiting on about an arms race. Mix that with the multiple separatist movement they have going at the moment, most of whom want to join the new commonwealth, and you have a potential flashpoint."
"Mmmmm…., I can't help noticing the increasing radicalizing of the region either. Ever since withdrawing completely from the middle east, the great strides over the last decade in becoming independent to Middle Eastern oil and locking up Canada's and Australia's nuclear resources for the westosphere and I guess these extremist see the most populous Islamic nation as the best hope at combating western ideals and Culture."
"Well, keep an eye on them but I see domestic issues and defensive military technology as priorities."
Dave nodded in thought, with their British allies walking a tightrope with continental Europe and Russia and China not being the threat they were the rumors of a major extremist Islamic state north of the Australian commonwealths borders was worrying.
"Always, always. I'll let you know if and when they become an unavoidable problem."
President Jackson nodded, his thoughts already on his next speech. These sorts of issues were what Dave was good at after all.
Buffy looked blankly at the heavily lacquered doors that bordered the school library trying vainly to remember how she got there. Vague memories of the vicious ambush by the Skilosh demons, being nursed back to health at Xander's new place – now that was embarrassing, and a casual walk to the school stood out amongst the lack of recalled details.
She had no idea how Xander had gotten hold of a change of clothes for her, though there was something deeply disturbing by the thought of her mother not only knowing she had spent the night but handing over a change of clothes. For the life of her, she could not remember the address of Xander's new place either; even details of his house were sketchy.
Perhaps even more worrying than the gaps in her memory, she had suffered a concussion after all, was that Xander had obviously been walking through the cemetery at the same time as her ambush. She refused to believe, despite her earlier suspicions, that there had been any sinister motives behind his presence there but she couldn't help to wonder WHY he had been there in the first place. After all, even accompanied by Angel and equipped with the famous slayer powers and training, she had still almost died. Xander had even less ability to defend himself if attacked.
The thought of her friend risking himself like that, without training or powers, Buffy shook her head, unconsciously fingering the bandages that still bound her torso. Even though he had spent less time with the Scooby gang lately, she still valued the few friends she had that knew of her secret and she was reluctant to risk them on something as unimportant as random patrols.
Then there were her injuries. Xander had been very vague about the extent of her injuries, only going so far as too say that if he had taken the time to drop her off at the hospital she would have died, as a concession he had catalogued a list for Giles. After all, as afraid as she was to look at the Giles labeled A4 envelope, her watcher needed to know all the information of her attack as she could give him.
Her health also directly impacted any training he offered her as part of his duties. As brutally as she had been attacked, as systematically as her defenses had been destroyed and as helpless as she had felt in defending herself in the face of attack despite her powers and training however, she had begun to feel a fear and reluctance to experience that again.
For the first time since she had first been awakened to her powers and destiny, it all seemed to much. She felt like very small light against an overwhelming darkness, hopeless in the face of inevitability. It did not escape her notice that Xander had rescued her from certain death twice now either.
Taking a deep breath to regain her equilibrium and repress the scared, wide eyed look that she had been carrying around since her second near death experience in as many years, she pushed into the library. A thick layer of foundation had covered the majority her residual bruising, and short of a close inspection and her still stiff movements, she might never have been near death in the first place.
She only wished the emotional scars, her confidence, could be healed as quickly as her physical ones had.
As usual, Giles and Willow seemed to be pouring over some old tomb or another. Xander wasn't anywhere that she could see and if Angel had been as injured as she was, she doubted he would be around anytime soon either. She was not blind to the aversion between Xander and her vamperic boyfriend.
"Heya guys," she chirped out to Giles and Willow with more confidence than she felt as she pulled out a chair next to them and flopped down, almost throwing the envelope containing her list of injuries at her watcher with nervousness. "Where's Xander?"
"You don't need to pretend Buffy?" Willow said, eyes shining with curiosity and delight at the chance at engaging in some gossip with her best female friend. "We know you spent the night there. So how was your study date? How did you get Snyder to let you skip school? What about Angel? I didn't know that you were interested in ancient British history and culture, cause you know Giles is sooo proud."
Buffy looked at Willow blankly as her brain slowly sorted through her best friends babble before she realized how Xander had managed to clear everything with the school and her mum. Slightly smarter than she had expected from her friend but if it avoided a second expulsion she was all good. Still, she wondered what he would do when they actually demanded evidence of work.
Once again the last remnants of her fight with the Skilosh demons flashed through her mind and she shivered remembering the deadening cold that had slowly crept into her limbs as she thought she was dying, she was dying. Somehow though she couldn't quite bring herself to explain herself further than a quickly mumbled, "Willow, I almost died."
"Ooooooohhhhh," Willow squealed in excitement, completely misinterpreting the other girl's response. "I sooo want details."
"Good Lord!" Giles interjected, "you could have died."
Willow's head whipped around to look at the ashen Watchers face in surprise and horror at his reiteration of her statement.
"Was it really that bad?" Buffy asked in a small voice, afraid to ask. She was going to be forever grateful to Xander for saving her life, even if she had only vague recollections of the actual saving, but she couldn't bring herself to engage the morbid curiosity she felt at reviewing her injuries any sort of detail. A slayer could take a lot of damage and it would probably just make her feel worse.
"Buffy," Giles began. The hands that held the list of her injuries shook as he slumped into his chair. "I have no idea how you could have survived them. Even with you Slayer healing…"
"You should have died." Willow was not alone this time in turning toward the voice in surprise. Angel's appearance from behind the book stacks was a complete surprise.
"Angel," Buffy cried in relief but her tone soon turned to shock at the older vampire's injuries. His face was swollen and discolored, both legs were splintered as he leaned heavily onto a pair of crouches and the bulky padding of bandages and dressings could be seen through his clothing. He looked like he had been hit by a truck, Buffy new that the reality was far worse.
"Even with a supply of donated human blood, the demon is struggling to heal my injuries. Those Skilosh demons knew what they were doing and they took us both apart easily, we should have both died that night. I have seen less, far less, take down a slayer in my past – Hell I have taken down more than a few myself and they complete overwhelmed me. So why are we alive?"
"Hold on buster, back up." Willow interrupted harshly at the older vampire. "Could someone explain what happened?"
"Yes," Giles murmured "I would very much like one of you to start at the beginning. How the blazes did you manage to almost get yourself killed when to my knowledge you where safe at a friends house?" The watchers ashen face was rapidly regaining color but his hands still shook as he clumsily slipped the list back into the envelope he had retrieved it from.
Buffy flinched back remembering the fight and the iciness in her extremities from free falling blood pressure; she nodded gratefully as Willow got up and placed an extra coat over her shivering shoulders. "It all started Wednesday night, Angel and I were combining some quality time with a quick patrol of cemetery 3. It was all so routine you know?"
Giles nodded vaguely as he remembered seeing her off after she stocked up on the usual supplies of stakes, bladed weaponry and holy water.
"It had been a fairly quiet night, a few fledglings and I was looking forward to finishing the patrol to spend more time with Angel outside of patrol when a pack of demons surrounded and attacked us. No banter, no threats, they just rushed us and beat us into the ground. I think I got one, it all got a bit hazy though, and I got separated from Angel early in the fight. I didn't find out until afterward what or who they where."
"She's right." Angel broke in roughly, "they were familiar enough with our routine and outnumbered us enough that they were able to separate and put as down with minimum effort. The last thing I remember from that night is having my head smashed in by the side of a crypt. Skilosh demons, when they attack in a pack are deadly, I still haven't found out why I was left alive."
"Next thing I knew," Buffy continued, huddled defensively into a chair, "was waking up with a concussion on Xander's lounge and wondering why I wasn't dead. I barely had enough energy to eat and then I was out like a light again. Thank god Xander was there."
"Is it always going to be like this Giles?" Buffy whispered pityingly, "what use is being a Slayer when it is so easy to beat one, to kill one?"
"Sorry I'm late guy's, the line at the doughnut shop was murder, literally. Then I had to dodge Snyder with the sweets and…." Xander trailed off as everyone stared at him but Buffy straightened slightly in his presence.
"Xander," she whispered in relief. When he hadn't been there when she woke up she had been slightly concerned. The still warm cooked breakfast was nice but…
"OK….. no one died did they? Cause you know, Buffy looks a lot better than she did?" Xander commented as he started serving up the sickly chocolate and cream treats.
Buffy winced at his comment and waited for Giles or Angel to break the awkward silence, it did not pass her notice that her watcher had not answered her question and that hurt. Was a Slayer no more than a sacrifice served up to the demons and vampires of the world, sport?
"No, thanks to you, Xander. Is this list of yours accurate?" Giles asked referring to the list of injuries that Buffy had given him earlier.
The thumping of Angel's crutches on the wooden floor boards as he approached the group cut off any reply that Xander may have given however, "we have bigger problems. That group of Skilosh demons were taken out by a more serious threat. There is a rumor running through the demon circles of a being of great power setting up base over the Hellmouth."
"Aaagghhhh nuts," Xander replied through a mouthful of crème "I know Buffy's great and all but she's still recovering and anything that is strong enough to take out those demons had to be a serious threat, right? Still, at least those demons won't be a threat to us anymore."
"Yes, quite." Giles agreed, suddenly finding his equilibrium and reaching for a pile of books. "What were those demons you mentioned earlier? Maybe we can get an idea of this new threats capability from their demise."
"Skilosh demons, worse than that – I hear he has defeated a number of master vampires over the last year. Ownership over the hell mouth is a precious commodity amongst demons."
Buffy slipped out of the library unnoticed as the discussion of Sunnydale's latest big bad warmed up. She shivered in fear and wondered if she would ever be able to match those who regularly tried to claim the slayers scalp without fear or uncertainty.
Alan finch, deputy mayor of Sunnydale, walked through the semi-empty halls of the town hall with hesitancy in his step and a glint of fear in his eye, the rolls of paper he held in his arms crinkled at every step doing nothing for his nerves. What had promised to be a plumb assignment for a budding politician, one filled with business, political contacts and the close mentoring of a politician whose family had managed to hold onto office for three generations had quickly turned into a decade of fear and near death experiences.
Oh he had been introduced into a political and business web that few ever dreamed of but what it came with…. Alan shuddered and avoided the hard stare of a vampire that stalked the corridor leading towards the mayor's office. The supernatural world that he had quickly fallen into and which blackened his soul was unavoidable and inescapable; it was a perfect example of 'be careful what you wish for' and how he wished he had never even heard of Sunnydale.
He was directly or indirectly responsible for more deaths than a warlord in a third world nation and although he hated it, he knew that the only way to escape the world he had found himself intrinsically tied to was death. That or the arrival of someone even more powerful, potentially an even greater evil than his boss, Alan shuddered again and sometimes wondered what was worse – after all, everyone needed an accountant.
Still, meeting the Mayor never got easier and after ten long years, he wondered how much longer his nerves would last. Shivering and breaking out in a cold sweat at the news that he brought tonight, he wondered if that time had come whn someone bigger and badder than his boss had come to claim the Hellmouth. 'Perhaps,' he thought, 'though it was too early to tell and I need to survive telling the boss the bad news.'
Pushing the door open, Alan was relieved to find Mayor Richard Wilkins alone in his office. The mayor's visitors were always very powerful and sometimes very short tempered; he often wondered how he had survived so long. "Mr. Mayor," he rushed out breathlessly trying not to drop the roles of paper he carried in his arms, "I have news."
"Now Alan, what have I always told you," Mayor Wilkins replied in a deceptively childish voice as he waved Alan in, "call me Richard when we are alone. Mayor Wilkins makes me feel so OLD."
Alan nodded automatically as he entered the office, if he did not know better he would have been put at ease by the Mayors comments, but he had been deputy for ten years and the small lines beneath the mans eyes told him he was being played with, not a good thing. This particular man went through deputies like underwear and when he felt playful lots of painful death and destruction usually followed.
He may behave like a child at time, but Alan would never forget that the mayor was a both a psychopath and an accomplished killer. Only when one understood the different moods and could shift as quickly as the unstable man in front of him could you avoid being killed – sometimes. Alan did not kid himself, he had been very lucky so far.
"Of course," he replied having no intention of every calling the man Richard, alone or otherwise. "But I have been receiving worrying reports about the sewers and tunnels surrounding the location of the Hellmouth."
Alan started unrolling the pieces of paper unto a handy whiteboard, revealing detailed schematics of the tunnel and sewer systems that riddled the foundations of Sunnydale. "We have lost contact with nests in the regions behind tunnels 31-B to 33-C which I have marked in Red, the yellow regions are the area's that demonic packs having reportedly gone missing in. Some packs contained some master vampires and their children, formidable by most standards."
"That combined with the rumors of a new player in the region that has adopted the pseudonym of 'Holder of the Hellmouth' and I can only assume that someone or something powerful is seeking to establish a base of operation over the Hellmouth with the eventual intention of challenging your authority, perhaps even a pack?"
Alan had heard of enough reports of demon packs, some quite powerful going missing around the area to rule their disappearance entirely co-incidental and after the rumors had started to become to hard to ignore, despite his uncertainty of how his boss would react he had to report it before the news reached the mayor through alternative means – that would be a guaranteed death sentence.
"Yes, quite troubling Alan. You were correct to bring this to my attention, do go on. What other tidbits do you have about this interesting fellow?" The mayor drawled out, the threat was quite clear – 'this better not be all you have on this guy? Stop wasting my time.'
Stifling the urge to wipe the sweat from his brow, Alan unrolled another piece of paper from his pile. On it was a detailed drawing of a large Cerberus, "Although it's identity is not known, it has taken to marking the scenes of its attacks with this symbol. It is an image of a…"
"A Cerberus yes, quite ironic wouldn't you say, for the so called Holder of the mouth of hell." The mayors eyebrow raised slightly causing Alan to dig out a list of semi confirmed casualties that he had managed to find and attribute to the new player.
"Most of the casualties attributable to the 'Holder of the Hellmouth' can't be directly confirmed. However I have compiled an incomplete list for you to look over, most recently a pack of six Skilosh demons had the unfortunate pleasure of running into him. The single survivor had no new information to give me, he has recently joined the rest of his pack."
Mayor Wilkins nodded thoughtfully as he skimmed the list, "most troublesome. And so close to my ascension too. I see that either intentionally or not it saved the slayers life? That is a shame, still I suppose another would just have been called, so no loss really."
Alan almost sighed in relief as the Mayor clicked his tongue and shook his head. The chances of him surviving this meeting had risen significantly, the mayor had lost his playful look and redirected his attention to this new threat. Alan refocused his attention back on the mayor as the old mage continued.
"That is something that will be easily corrected soon but I simply cannot afford any potential threats right now, I am going to have to do something drastic I am afraid. How very uncivilized of me." Mayor Wilkins sounded almost contrite, but from experience Alan knew he was a master at manipulating emotions and perception.
Tensing slightly as the mayor reached over to his desk draw, he almost held his breath in anticipation. Surprises were never good, especially when he was alone in the office with the Mayor.
"You see this Alan?" asked Mayor Wilkins as he withdrew a gold ring from his desk draw. "This should solve this little problem before it has a chance to erupt in all our faces. Even so, I hate redeeming favors for something so trivial."
Alan forced himself not to step back in fear as a column of fire erupted beside him, the heat pealing his skin and burning him painfully. The mayor hated how the cowardice of employees reflected upon him and any move that may be misconstrued as a retreat would definitely NOT be a good career move.
A humanoid figure, cloaked in flame resolved itself, from the mass of flames, before addressing the Mayor. "What do you want Wilkins," it growled completely ignoring the deputy mayor that it had almost burnt to a crisp, its scorn and hatred dripped from its voice leaving no doubt what it thought of the one to summon it. "The Order of Teraka has more important matters to attend to than the trifling matters of a self deluded mage with delusions of grandeur."
Alan shivered in fear despite the heat, he had heard of the Order of Teraka. They were a group of assassins and bounty hunters that had been around since the time of Solomon and if the gold ring was any indication this was one of their senior members.
"How uncivilized," the mayor replied from behind his desk, seeming unconcerned at the demonic figure growling threatening at him from the column of liquid fire. "Del'thos, I know you have secured a contract on the slayer girl recently and I wish to add to that little deal."
Alan flinched in pain as flames began to lash out violently from the column of flame even as the mayor continued mockingly. "You see, not much gets passed me these days, particularly in my own city. Did you really think that your order could really operate so obviously without my knowing?"
"The internal workings of the Order of Teraka are outside your jurisdiction Human scum. We're none of your concern." The heat was unbearable and the overwhelming feeling of lethal threat and oppressive power coming from the column of living flame indescribable – he wanted to run away screaming and be consumed at the same time, he felt deeply conflicted down to his bones. It reminded him why he hated being present while the mayor did business. One mistake could potentially lead to his death, from either his boss or whoever the boss was meeting at the time.
"Ahhh, but I am afraid it is and this is why" the mayor chuckled as he held up the gold ring he had retrieved from his desk drawer earlier. "You see, the debt owed to me still has to be paid in full, but I will consider a few of your more powerful assassin's payment enough. Add the so called 'Holder of the Hellmouth' to the contract taken out by that sniveling blond vampire and I will consider all debts between your order and I even."
"Granted," grunted the voice in rage and frustration.
Alan sighed in relief and not a bit of pain as cool air once again washed over his skin as the column of flames and the gold ring disappeared. Once again he would be healing from his encounter with Mayor Wilkins and his business associates but at least he had survived it.
Even as the mayor waved him out of his office he wondered, 'safe, but for how much longer?'
Jenny Calander walked around the computer lab after the students had all gone home for the day, defragging and performing the occasional re-ghost of partitions that some of the less skilled students had managed to somehow thoroughly trash despite the security she had installed.
Usually it was the kids that were skilled enough to run scripts to breech the computers defenses, but not skilled enough to know what to do once they had done so. 'Scripties,' she thought disdainfully. 'I am glad there are only a few of them. Such a lack of intelligence almost guarantees that they won't last long on the Hellmouth.'
It surprised her that after three years teaching in Sunnydale, she found she actually enjoyed teaching. Oh there were the usual fights over school budgets and personal fiefdoms within the school's system, but Sunnydale actually let her have a surprising amount of control over the computing curriculum and that allowed her to indulge her addiction to the rapidly changing IT industry with the schools budget.
Even the occasional snotty high school kid didn't trouble her too much. 'No,' she smiled, 'overall, there are far worse places to be than teaching a subject that you genuinely enjoy.' It also, in her opinion, provided the perfect cover for her real identity and reason for being here by allowing her instant, uninterrupted and private access to all her esoteric materials from home and other sources around the world in electronic form.
Oh, she wasn't blind to the fact that she had followed her target to a Hellmouth, or the fact that she frequently lost anywhere between five to ten percent of her class to 'accidental deaths' in any given year. But, in her mind it was incidental to her ultimate goal, the primary reason she had been placed in Sunnydale in the first place. The Beast would not escape her clan's vengeance for as long as they maintained an appropriate vigil.
Jenny stiffened and subtly started invoking the goddess of protection as she felt the presence of someone trying to sneak into her lab without her noticing, something that she had gone to great lengths to avoid by scattering subtle alarm wards throughout the area. At this time, it was unlikely to be a student and the nastier denizens of the Hellmouth would likely wait until dark so who…
"I see you have not neglected your training since you left the clan Jana," Jenny sighed in relief and turned to face the larger man that stepped into her computer lab. He held his bulky frame tall beneath a full length trench coat and his upper face was covered with a large hat. Jenny would never mistake her uncle for anyone else despite the coverings however, and she was glad for his visit. It was always nice to see a friendly face in such a demonically hostile environment as Sunnydale.
"If you moved to an active Hellmouth, I doubt that you would neglect your training either uncle. Even with the tricks that have been passed down through the Kalderash clan, I have to be careful. Running into a pack of vampires is the least dangerous thing that might happen to you in this town after dark. I am amazed the death toll isn't higher than it is already and I do not want my name added to the list."
Jenny pulled out a couple of chairs and sat down, gesturing for her uncle to join her, he was family after all and the bonds between members of the Kalderash clan were strong. "What brings you here uncle, the beast remains cursed and I have continued to report on the activities of the local wildlife and demon hunters alike. Even the council presence here doesn't achieve much more than culling the weaker creatures that inhabit the night."
Jenny watched carefully as her uncle nodded thoughtfully, as if wondering how to approach an uncomfortable subject, for someone so senior in her clan to arrive without notice could only signal that something very big had either happened or was about to happen. Something that was likely to directly impact both her and her clan.
"Tell me about this place Jana," her uncle implored after a moment of silence. His gravelly voice gave a hint of his concern and of uncertainty.
Jenny shrugged her shoulders flippantly, she had after all included everything in her reports. Something must have happened to worry her clan leaders though. "The chaotic mystical convergence that permeates this town and attracts demons like bee's to honey is centered on a Hellmouth located roughly under the school library. As sought after by the demon population as it is, I have never investigated any further. Still, it is no wonder that the beast found a place like this to flee, even if his demon is suppressed by the soul curse. If there was a place that either directly or indirectly acted to strengthen the demon and weaken the curse, it would be here."
He uncle grunted, gesturing for her to continue.
"The major opposition to the demonic population simply overwhelming this place and claiming it for themselves is a council team consisting of a Watcher and an active slayer, one that has survived surprisingly long. Although, from the sounds of recent events, she may not last much longer." Jenny frowned in thought before pressing on with her report for the elder. She had already reported the rumors she had heard about the pack of Skilosh demons and if he wanted to ask more detailed questions, she could answer them then.
"I dislike the fact that the watcher has begun to press students into helping him, or the fact that he is getting so close to the beast but, I am not considered close enough to the group to effect operational matters. It is a council affair and it would be disastrous if he found out that I was Kalderash."
Her uncle leant forward, placing his chin into a hand in thought. "The clan seers' have seen the beasts pain lessening and a possible future that involves the curse shattering entirely. Even worse, they have seen winds of change so strong that they cloud the future of this place."
"The council has become weak and irrelevant; I am considering moving a stronger presence into the area. Since you have been monitoring this place there has been a noticeable increase in activity despite the council's intervention, something is building here and the Kalderash must be apart of that – this the seers have seen."
Jenny frowned in thought, event though their number had been increasing over the last few hundred years, the Kalderash were not as numerous as anyone in the clan of gypsies would like. To move a greater presence to the active Hellmouth indicated a great change in the clan elders thinking. It could even potentially lead to open conflict between the clan and the watchers council, something that had not happened for centuries.
"Very well," her uncle grunted. "You have greater situational knowledge of this area – you can be point for this operation. Be ready."
Jenny could only nod, stunned. As knowledgeable as she was in demonology and magic, she came from one of the less known branches of the clan. As such, she had never been expected to amount to much among her people's hierarchy – she had been glad receive the task of overseeing the clans vengeance on the vampiric beast that had attacked generations ago. It would she felt, showcase her abilities and lead her higher into the clans workings.
To have given such a promotion so quickly was stunning. She only mumbled a farewell as her uncle disappeared before jumping up and preparing for her clans arrival. If a greater presence of Kalderash was making itself felt on the Hellmouth there were things she would need to do to smooth their transition.
Unnoticed by either Jenny Calander or her uncle was a line of ants streaming into a non-existent crack in the wall and even if they had noticed, it is doubtful wither would have understood their significance.
Harry walked through Sunnydale with a spring in his step and shoulders unburdened by tension for the first time since he had found himself ripped from his home and into a time and place not of his choosing. Since the fight with the possession demon and his subsequent rebuilding of all his mental defenses, he had felt more at ease with the body he had found himself bound to.
Oh, CSE's industrious efforts to rebuild it to optimum strength probably had a fair to do with it, but there was also the residual personality differences that needed to be resolved between two very different mindsets after his arrival here. It was entirely too simple to simple to say that his magical and more experienced and dominate personality would trump the muggle teenager's relatively simple mind entirely, if that were the case- Voldemorts original attempt to possess him back in the day may well have succeeded.
No, rebuilding his broken defenses had allowed a far more thorough merging. As far as he could tell, he was still who he always was, focused, ruthless, driven, cunning and incredulous how the human race had survived millennia of warfare with demon kind. The weak society that they had build held no ruthlessness, no drive and little sense of self preservation.
'Ahhh, it doesn't matter,' he thought to himself 'it will just make it easier for someone competent to take charge. Still, have a fair way to go before I completely rebuild my powerbase though.' The pervasive and chaotic feel of the Hellmouth that oppressed Sunnydale in its entirety made him grin in anticipation 'Yes, this will be the fine location for a future capital. From here my armies will sweep though anything that stands before its might – in my name.'
Now he had eradicated any lingering issues with the possession of this body he was looking forward to the next stage of his plans. He would no longer be able to expand further without attracting the notice of bigger players than he had faced down so far – but that was alright, he was looking forward to the challenge, he was getting tired of the week vampiric packs looking for loot.
What he needed was a real challenge to bite his teeth on, even the events he had planned for later that night wasn't going to be a challenge, just exhausting.
In fact, lately it had been too easy and that worried him. When things became too easy, he began to look for plans within plans and he became paranoid. The slayer, the great foot soldier of humanity had broken surprisingly easily, and he had not even had to do anything.
His plan for the slayer may have to be moved up a little as a result but that was alright, Harry thought with his grin widened. The rest of her support crew, full of concern for the injured slayer and the threat posed by a new player on the Hellmouth had allowed any suspicions of his behavior too lapse into the back of there mind.
After all, he had been spending less time involving himself with the clique and none of them even suspected that the watchers council did not have a monopoly on demon hunting. Even the older watcher had allowed his suspicions too settle for the moment. Harry laughed at the irony, 'no one suspected the doughnut guy after all.'
Lost in his thoughts and his walk around the Hellmouth, he was surprised when CSE seized control off his brain functions and dropped him like a stone. Even then, the projectile that was intended for his head ricocheted off his lower jaw, shattering the hardened bone like it was a pane of glass. Several follow up shots completely demolished the brick wall behind him as he rolled for cover already sorting through the live streaming data from the tilled roof eight hundred meters away.
At this time of night, and as balmy as it was, slipping a few of his sensor drones disguised as common mosquitoes passed unnoticed to the surprisingly human looking would be assassin.
Video and sound from different view points and recommended courses of actions all streamed through his head as CSE re-prioritized its processes to defensive and offensive operations. His skin hardened and a small mist of nanites clouded around his skin awaiting further orders from the AI.
Leaping up and running a zigzagged path in the direction of his attacker he growled in frustration. 'TONIGHT, of all nights,' he had plans for tonight and he had been carefully conserving his magical strength and energy stores to pull them off. He simply could not afford an extended magically exhausting conflict right now. Otherwise, this fight would probably already be over, massive collateral damage non-withstanding, there were no witnesses to be concerned about after all.
Barely dodging the next round of fire, he extended his limited sensor net to ensure he wasn't double teamed by any potential partner of hers. If his date at the Whitehouse fell though then his plans would have to be postponed until another opportunity arose. 'I can't afford this now, I'll tear her apart slowly and painfully for this impudence. Still, I was complaining about how easy it was until now.'
Harry winced as a bullet tore through his shoulder despite the small net of nannites bleeding the momentum of the projectile before impact and the hardened area of skin providing body amour. 'Those are not ordinary bullets, I will have to end this now and hope that I don't deplete my reserves too much.'
Apparating behind the sniper he allowed some of his magical power to bleed through to his eyes as he knocked her from her nest and onto the road. "That hurt," he growled at the woman as she reached for a secondary weapon, proving that she was not to be underestimated and that her training was second to none. Not giving her a chance he conjured a hail of nails, effectively pinning her to the road, already he could feel CSE working to repair the damage done to his body.
Where the bullets bit, he could feel residue demonic energy acting to inhibit healing and promote disease, infection. It was a vicious combination unless you had centuries of advanced medical knowledge to combat the simple but deadly combination.
"You know," he said calmly to the woman who, despite the pain she was clearly in, was still attempting to pull herself from the large nails pinning her to the bitumen. "I planned a large relaxing stroll around Sunnydale, to relish the powerful mystical convergence that seems to hang like a thick fog around this town and what do I get."
Pulling a knife from his pocket, even conjuring used magical energy that might be needed later on, he reached down and cut the silver ring from the woman's middle finger, she didn't scream but struggled more furiously against the nails. "Order of Teraka, and fairly high up as well. I wonder who hired you." He had enough history with assassins and their orders to know that she wouldn't talk and he didn't have the time or energy for a proper interrogation that would no doubt avoiding any traps hidden within her mind.
It didn't really matter who hired her though, before the night was out he would no doubt have more powerful enemies. Shaking his head at how close she actually can to succeeding in taking him out, he reached down and cut her throat, he would leave the body intact as a warning to the rest of her team. Next time he would have ample time to play if they decided to pursue their contract.
Shaking his head at the waste of time, he lifted an eyebrow at the war cry coming from down the street where he had killed the sniper. 'Not another assassin then, they would have been trained better than to so easily give up the element of surprise.'
Allowing even more power to shine from his eyes he eyed the charging threat with distain, even as he tried to determine who or what it was and what level of threat they offered.
It was another human looking girl, younger than the sniper. Reaching out his magical aura to engulf the girl and flicking his knife at her to delay her charge he stepped back in surprise. This girl was a Slayer, 'but there is supposed to only be one,' he thought in confusion.
"You killed her you monster, die," the girl yelled as she dodged his knife and attacked him with a sharpened wooden stake.
Now Harry was intrigued, casually reaching into her mind and brushing her surface thoughts, he became aware of her rigorous training and mental indoctrination. The feeling of endless hours of regimented training and studies even before her calling broadcast loudly as he easily beat back her attack using a combination of conjurations and hard body strikes.
As regimented as her childhood had been, he doubted she would be as easily broken as the current slayer, or as useful to his plans even if he had the time, no he thought as he looked up at the stars. It was time to end this and it seemed he would finally get a slayer to study without impacting his plans too drastically. 'Another would just be called,' he thought knowingly, 'and they might even be of more use to me,'.
An anticlimactic wave of his hand, a flash of sickly green light and a steady knife thrust and it was over. Overkill, even a slayer could not survive being hit by such a curse. Shaking his head at the wasted opportunity and he glanced over to where a silvery screen was enveloping the dead assassin rapidly breaking the body down and harvesting it for information for later analysis and energy for tonight's activities, restoring what he had just wasted killing the slayer and the assassin.
It would be nearly one am by the time he left Sunnydale, leaving only a green Cerebrus and the snipers silver ring glinting sharply in the dawn light from her copse marked the fate of the dead Slayer.
Bob Daily flicked his cigarette to the side, spilling ash all over the pristine lawns of the Whitehouse grounds and scowled in annoyance at the line up of black vehicles at the gates just behind the security cordon. 'Who was in charge of this disaster anyway', he asked himself with a sneer. 'There was no way to keep such an attack low profile now, no matter what was said to the screaming pack of journalists, those neatly lined up cars, all shining with polished uniformity just screamed federal agencies, more than one.'
The conspiracy nuts would be howling all sorts of stories based on the tight security and the lack of information right now, hell – anyone who was watching the live feeds from anyone of the channels covering the story wouldn't help but feel deeply intimidated by the shear number of agencies present, not to mention the military patrols sweeping the grounds.
And he doubted that they would be far wrong in their guesses either, in the days since September 11, 2001 the American people had become used to, indeed hypersensitive, to the growing threat of extremism and terrorism that swept the globe. At home and abroad, it was a scary time to be alive. 'But then,' he thought cynically 'when isn't it.'
It was perhaps a good thing that he had been called so early into the investigation, with so many agencies and the military involved to boot, they needed a hard headed basted with enough credibility with the military to crack some heads, split some lips and put some pounce's overly small nuts into a vice. It was a job that he was well suited to.
"Fuck here we go again I'm getting too old for this shit," Bob muttered under his breath as he dragged his limp leg under the police tape and flashed his badge to the guards. Even though he was good at his job, indeed he liked it – particularly when some bureaucratic hero tried to stand up to him, the crime scenes became worse not better with age.
Almost immediately upon breaching the security cordon, an impossibly young agent in a neatly pressed suit approached him, no doubt to fill him in on the case. Young, idealistic, and inexperienced agents were the worst. They reminded him too much of the reason he first joined the agencies. 'A few years in the job shout fix them right up,' he thought sourly, 'then they might even aspire to my exhulted position.'
"Bob…Bob Daily. I am glad you could make it." Bob grinned as the young agent tried not to cough as he blew stale cigarette smoke into the young agents face. The young ones never had the guts to fight back, it may be cruel but it was a tough world out there and it was getting tougher.
"We, have CIA, NSA, and FBI on the ground processing the scene and military backup since they caught the last of the attack. It appears to be…" Bob cut the junior agent off before he could embarrass himself further. Now he was just wasting precious time and for all his games and cynical reasoning he would always be a patriot. No matter how life had chewed him up and spat him out.
Besides, he had already been briefed on the way over – probably far more thoroughly than this junior g-man could.
"Enough boy, I will co-ordinate with the military and the agency heads when I get to them, for now walk me through the scene." Even with all that he had seen and done in his life, he never, NEVER, thought he would be referring to the Whitehouse of the United States of America as a crime scene – it was surreal, and horrifying.
A tour was necessary before he got to the agency heads however, it would give him a gut feel as to motive, perhaps background and training, even numbers. The evidence to support his suppositions came later and they DID almost always, support his initial gut feel. It was what made him so good at his job.
"Of course sir," the young agent stuttered out, leading him further into the grounds of neatly pruned trees and meticulously mowed lawns.
"We're thinking it was an insider's job of some kind, a single person, or small group of well trained people who were intimately familiar with all the Whitehouse's security systems and redundancies."
Bob took a deep breath through his cigarette as he struggled to keep up with the agents pace. His bung leg was not as good as it used to be, but he would be damned if he showed any sign of aging, of weakness. He did tune out the young mans repetition of the agencies initial findings however – they were often worth squat at such an early stage.
"At just after one am, all power and communications were cut, even the backups failed to engage, leaving the Whitehouse essentially in lockdown. Techies are still going through all the electronic data they can to see if the can figure out how it was done, but for now…" The young man shrugged with the frustration of not knowing, "it's like they knew the all the security overrides and just shut it down."
"Whoever did this though, knew what they were doing, they knew what the potential response time from the nearest military base would be and they acted to ensure the most amount of terror. The president was the only one left alive – quite deliberately I am told."
Bob grunted and the young man continued as he led the older detective to the first sight being photographed and marked, he could immediately see the scattered empty shell casings from the guards weapons and the blood splatter pattern even though the body had long been removed. It didn't seem to have helped him but he had been shooting at something.
"The forensic people have already told us how it happened from the order in which the security and the staffers died. Whoever did this cut a bloody path through the grounds with seeming indifference to the heavy security, the automated defenses and the Special Forces attached to the presidents security detail. They died too closely together to determine accurate time of death from the bodies of course but the congealed blood coating the walls, lawn, floors tells their own story."
Bob carefully bagged what was left of his cigarette so as not to further disturb the crime scene and followed young agent to the next section of lawn that was scattered with small plastic numbers. "All the casings belonged to the guard's personal weaponry; they were clearly shooting at something."
"How were they killed, where the guards killed in the same manner as the staffers? Was any weapon found?" Bob bit out the questions, but by the amount of blood he already suspected the answers as he entered the Whitehouse proper. The agent however had been correct; you could map the attacker's path by the fallen bodies – what a mess.
"Every single person killed, from staffers, guards and techies were killed by the same bladed weapon in the same manner as you have already been seen. The damage you can see throughout the building was from the small arms fire of the guards - that is still being checked."
Bob nodded, still following the path of the attacker or attackers; it must have been terrifying for the people present at the Whitehouse at that time. No power, no communications, just the sound of death and dying and the inevitability of being next. It definitely spoke volumes about those responsible. Striking almost effortlessly at the very symbol of US supremacy, disabling or bypassing every effort of defense and letting the president live in an almost pitying gesture.
If they could strike here, where wasn't it possible for them to strike? Once the story broke, it would create mass panic and forever dispel the myth of US supremacy. It was a well planned and meticulously rationed attack. That was a very dangerous combination and one not seen amongst the many extremist groups for a long time.
The possibility of a new player on the scene was VERY bad news and the fact that no one had claimed responsibility was even worse, though it was still early days.
"We think we may have caught a break however - do you see this fire pattern?" The young man pointed to a bunched series of machine gun fire. Bob smiled grimly, 'it looks like at least one of the guards managed to keep his head – good'
"It looks like some biological material residue, around one of the damaged regions. It is being checked but if we managed to wing one of the basted's, we will have his DNA." Bob nodded at the possibility and continued past the damaged wall panel, it was a good lead but with how smoothly this operation had been planned and executed he couldn't help but feel that such an event was unlikely. Still, even more careful murders had been upset by a smaller mistake than leaving behind a poorly cleaned bloodspot.
Bob shook his head, he had seen enough. This beautiful building had become the site of a bloodbath, a well planned and executed bloodbath. Heads were going to roll for this one, a random bombing MIGHT be missed but such a large operation such as this – and he doubted the invasion of a small country would have been as detailed – should have raised so many red flags that it had the agencies talking about increased chatter for years.
"I've seen enough, is the president available for an interview now."
Bob didn't even wait for a reply as he headed in the direction of the heavily secured room that the president was staying in. The medics had already done what they could for the panic and shock, now it was time for answers.
He would not roll out his usual routine however, he might not have voted for the guy but he was still the president. Moving though three different check points Bob finally made it to the lone survivor of the night.
"Mr President," he greeted as he entered the room. It was a smaller side room to the oval office he knew. "Are you up to answering some question?"
The president nodded distractedly, "They killed Dave you know. How could they kill Dave? HOW, WHY!!"
Bob sighed, out of every one who had died, his security, advisors, secretaries, he was worried about Dave? Sometimes stress and grief could do strange things to people.
"Could you recount what happened, in your own time." Bob tried to be understanding, he hoped it didn't come out like t sounded but he was used to busting balls not dealing with victims, no matter how important. Damn politics.
"It was…surreal, the lights went out and I couldn't contact my secretary when the switch didn't work. Then I heard gunfire – it all happened so fast."
"Of course I was concerned when the gunfire continued and begun to get closer but, with an army base so close, and so much security around the Whitehouse, how could I ever have expected what was to come. We should have been able to hold off a small army. Even unprepared, holding the attack off long enough for the base to respond should have been well within our capabilities."
"After a surprising amount of time, a guard came to escort me to a safer location. I didn't recognize him but with my guards rotating so often these days I shrugged it off as he hustled me to the oval office. I was spooked, the gunfire was still getting closer in erratic bursts and I began to hear the screams of the dying."
"This way Mr. President, This way," President Jackson chuckled nervously, "It will be safe this way."
The president reached with shaking hands for what looked, and smelled from across the room, to be a very stiff drink. "That was when I saw it. I didn't even hear or see the guard leave, when I turned around he was just…gone."
"I never thought they would finish dying, terrible, it was terrible. Then the reserves arrived."
Bob Daily looked through the open door at what the president was referring to and saw what was scorched into the presidential desk. A VERY detailed sketch of a three headed dog and a phase, just a single phase. "The world is older than you know and it's history far darker."
'Great,' he thought with dread, 'I just can't wait for that meeting with the section heads now.' Because now he new without a doubt that they were dealing with someone who was calculating, reasoned and knew exactly what they were doing.