The Only Thing to Fear…
Disclaimer: Buffy is the property of Joss Whedon. Star Wars is the property of George Lucas. Christopher Nolan owns Batman Begins and the Dark Knight.
"Fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering." ~ Yoda
"So, first of all, let me assert my firm belief that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself—nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance." ~ Franklin Delano Roosevelt
A/N: I am a horrible person, giving a long delay (understatement I realize) only to provide you with a short chapter. I apologize but life is thus. Thanks for keeping with it and for contributing feedback. Also, a quick note of interest- Krayn is an actual character in the Star War mythos... but I'm taking some major liberties with him and mostly basing him off of Dr. Jonathan Crane from Batman Begins.
Chapter 3: We All Fall Down
Darkness blanketed the Slayer's vision in thick, impenetrable folds. She quickly opened her eyes, the blood behind them streaking her vision in a crimson glow for a moment as they adjusted to the inky gloom. The red veins slowly shifted into crooked black bars as the frigid night all around her morphed into a drafty dungeon. Endless rows of cells, each encased in the same oddly menacing crooked coal bars went on for as far as her keen eyes could see in the pitch. The rows between the six by six cells and the cell floors themselves were a dusty colored earthen mix.
Buffy's face was currently shoved in that mix and she took a moment to gather herself, to feel her surroundings. The air was crisp, not stale as would normally be true for a dungeon. This meant one of several things, but she was hoping that it implied that an exit was nearby, keeping the blocks well ventilated and conveniently providing a nice escape route. The noises were typical of the incarcerated; a far-away stream of weakened and pathetic moans, a cackling laugh that scratched like fingernails against chalk to Buffy's fuzzy brain, and practiced footsteps crunching down the grainy aisle, no doubt her jailers come to check.
Though that could very well just be the ego talking, Buffy corrected herself as she slowly, gracelessly pulled herself up to a sitting position, the cold steel of the uneven bars pressed against her sore back as she leaned heavily back against it, her body limp and spent. She wiped off the sand on her cheek and made note of her new neighbors.
In the cage to her left, there was a young Twi'lek. The girl had cerulean skin and wide, bulbous eyes that skitted towards the Slayer when she felt her presence. A heart-shaped cherubic face greeted Buffy as the girl gave a tentative wave with one of her brain tails. Buffy waved back, swallowing the bile that was quickly rising in her throat.
The girl, and she was indeed a girl, probably no older than fifteen, was wearing the skimpiest excuse for clothing imaginable; a leather thong and matching bra-like harness, exposing so much of that brilliant blue skin that Buffy quickly had to look away before she starting pounding the letch's bars and breaking her knuckles… again.
The cage on Buffy's right imprisoned a human woman. She had dark, almost black hair and skin as pale as any Vampire's. She was sitting perfectly in the middle of her small cage, her legs tucked up tight against her exposed body with her arms wrapped stiffly around them, her unseen face securely hidden against her knees and behind her dull, endless dark locks.
Buffy shivered against the bars and her head whipped back to the aisle in front of her cell as the approaching footsteps came nearer until they stopped directly before her little slice of dungeon. Buffy eyed the two pairs of shoes for a moment, playing with her captors, baiting them to lose their patience as she studied only their feet and ignored their stares. Shoes told so much anyway. One of her captors, strangely enough, was apparently a woman judging by the petite size and the stylized toe. Not bad actually.
The other pair were more familiar and far less enviable, being the ones that had personally kicked her unconscious and she suspected a few more times after that for good measure. They were the shoes of one Mr. Ska-rey Quinn, A.K.A. Creepizoid.
The pair waited before Buffy's cell for a few minutes, apparently having nothing better to do than model their shoes for her. Finally, Buffy's own patience only stretching so far, she looked up unflinchingly into the eyes of her captors.
Creepizoid, she had met. He was actually not that bad looking, once you got past the almost alien architecture of his extremely well chiseled face. The razor sharp angles created deep shadows that made his pale beauty seem even darker, especially with the unruly black hair falling Victorian like to just past his ears. He wore the same business suit he had knocked her out in and Buffy marveled once again at how extremely lean he was, almost sickly so.
The woman at his side was actually the more intriguing of the two for Buffy because were it not for their positions and the grime factor, they could easily have passed for sisters. She was around Buffy's age, maybe slightly older and a little more filled-out with sapphire eyes instead of Buffy's green and just the tiniest bit taller than the Slayer. She had bright, blood red hair cropped as short as a pageboy's but her eyebrows gave away her natural blonde color. She had barb wire looking tattoos spaced evenly in rows across her cheeks and the clothes she wore mirrored the punk rock image with a loose yellow scarf and a leather jacket complete with spikes at the shoulder on one side and armor on the other. Her pants and shirt were dark and skintight, coming in layers and showing off her slim, curvy form. She had Buffy's facial features, even the slightly upturned nose, and there was a fierce confidence in the way she held herself; like she was a lioness or a huntress, a kindred Slayer.
The woman radiated a certain energy about her as well. Not the wraith like force that overshadowed Creepizoid, but something almost familiar. Buffy sought her eyes to communicate the question, but found only ice in the woman's stare, like a fortress built around her to keep others out.
"You'll want to watch where you're looking, girl," the woman said, her throaty voice seductively threatening.
Creepizoid wrapped his long, bone white fingers around the bars to Buffy's cage and peered down at the Slayer, as though observing a rare specimen. "By now, you have probably surmised the dealings of my establishment. Thoughts?" he asked, as though inquiring about the weather.
"Only about a million. Anger and Revulsion are capping the list at the moment, but get back to me in an hour and I think I'll have a winner for you," Buffy said as she used the bars behind her to pull herself into a pained standing position.
The woman gave a disturbing grin at Buffy's discomfort and murmured, "You're right, I like this one." She pulled out a long Katana that flashed brilliantly in the darkness. "She'll be fun to break."
Buffy crinkled her nose in disgust at the woman before turning to Creepizoid. "My very own dominatrix? You shouldn't have."
His purple tinged lips quirked upward in response. He leaned forward a bit more, till his black eyes were invading Buffy's personal space, and then whispered conspiratorially, "It was her idea to keep you. Had I my way, you would be shipping off to slavers on the Outer Rim as we speak." He pulled away from Buffy's cage and gave a sigh as though he were more of a doting father than a psychopathic, dark-angeled scarecrow. "But Zora likes her toys."
"Kids today." Buffy said, shaking her head in mock agreement before coming closer to the pair, showing them just how unafraid they made her. "So Jeeps, what's on the spa menu for today? A relaxing massage? A pedicure? Please tell me it's not a wax because then we might have some problems."
"All in good time, my dear," Creepizoid said silkily before opening her cage and stepping aside to allow Zora through. "And by the way, Ms. Summers. Only my business associates on Mygeeto call me Ska-rey Quinn. I'd much prefer it if you'd address me by my given name, Krayn."
Buffy refused to shrink back as the woman, Zora, bounded her hands behind her in thick iron manacles before roughly dragging her out and kicking her into the grainy floor of the aisle outside her cage. Skinned knees were the least of the Slayers problems as she rose onto them and spat out the blood and dirt. "Whatever you prefer, Jeeps."
Krayn glided in front of Buffy and caressed the top of her head once, almost like a pat, before he said, "I think you'll come to realize that soon enough. Until then, I leave you in Zora's capable hands," and then he was gone, the crunches of his footsteps disappearing like a ghost's as his figure faded into the shrouded darkness of the dungeon.
"Come on, precious," Zora said, yanking Buffy up by her hair and preparing to drag her in the opposite direction. "Let's get you… Oomph!"
Buffy headbutted the woman full in the face and then gave one backward roll, coming to stand up on the other side with her manacles now in front of her. "No need to go to any trouble over me. I'll just help myself," Buffy quipped with a grin now plastered on her face. She hoped it was successfully masking the zings of pain lacing up and down her body with protest at the contortion she'd just pulled off.
The woman's blue eyes sparkled and quicker than Buffy could flinch away, she found the Katana's sharp edge pressed to her throat, her skin breaking out in goosebumps at the cool feel of metal. "Play time is over. Time now to show how good a little girl you can be, otherwise I'll be seeing if two of you are really better than one."
"Somehow," Buffy pointed out as she shuffled forward in front of Zora, the Katana still firmly checked at her throat, "I think my body would miss my head too much. They've developed a rather close bond over the years."
Zora gave a throaty laugh. "Bonds were meant to be broken, precious."