Disclaimer: Same stuff as before, look at chapter one…

A/N - Hopefully this turns out okay…if not, please tell me. Also, sorry it took so long. I'm thinking about combining all of this into one mega chapter…maybe. On top of that, Ethans last name was misspelled, instead of Ryan it should be Ryane. Enjoy!

Chapter Four: Second Chances
Part 3

Sunnydale High School Library 10:25pm

"Nothing!" the Commander shouted, while throwing the open book in his hands at a wall. The book sailed through the air for a moment before crashing into the hard wood. Bouncing off, it landed onto a steadily growing pile. The Commander turned his attention to another book from the shelf, hopefully this one would be more informative. For the past hour or so, he had been sifting through countless tomes, spell books and manuscripts. The ones deemed worthless (in his eyes) had been flung into a reject pile. So far, none of them had the answers he was looking for, though they did give some historical information. The others which were promising to him had been gently placed onto another pile on the floor beside him. He learned from these about the Slayer and the so-called Powers That Be. From what he could gather, the former was a champion of sorts, fighting both vampires and demons to protect humanity. Oddly enough this 'Champion' was an exclusively female being, only one being selected every generation after the current one died. This made him terribly confused. Only ONE girl stood against the forces of evil here?

In Eric's mind it was foolish, having one person stand against an entire army. He almost felt sorry for her, whoever she was. However, he realized this would make his rise to power fairly easy. This girl would be preoccupied with killing creatures, while he could take his time in the background forging an empire. The Commander was surprised to find that each one of these girls had to be trained not in a period of years, but rather months or even weeks. The Powers That Be were somewhat of a mystery to him, as they supposedly watched over mankind, although one reference described them as having left this universe. He wasn't sure which one to believe. But he didn't really care, if they were gone, it was one less roadblock. And if not…well, they weren't doing a good job anyway. What he found more informative, though, were the books on spells. They described many things about the craft of magic. He noted that most, if not all, mages had to invoke a god or goddess to make the spell work. That was discouraging, besides the fact that he didn't believe in them in the first place. Why invoke some Greek or Roman myth that didn't exist? The spells themselves were time-consuming, long-winded words or phrases, and if you got it wrong the first time, you had to start all over again. Still, this gave him ideas on how to counteract these magically-inclined people. He briefly wondered if the girl and the old Englishman were mages, but quickly disregarded the redhead as one. Her actions alone suggested that she was a normal teenage girl, as far as he knew. The brown haired-male, however, very well could be. Especially if the man was a Watcher, the guardian/teacher of the Slayer. If so, Eric would have to keep an eye on him, the man's facade of being a bumbling professor with glasses might fool the girl, but not him. This man, this Giles, was a trained combatant …he was sure of it.

He looked at the book he had picked out while letting his thoughts roam. The leather bound tomes were a poor source of information, compared to the Net-Books of his time. The Net-Books were a fountain of limitless knowledge, while these were just trickles of information! He found himself missing the common and often taken for granted Net-Tech. But, he supposed being fifty years in the past and in an alternate universe would do that. Curiously, he found an event from this universe's history similar to his own. His U.S. campaign in 2034 was akin to something termed 'WW2' in this universe. He read through the rest of the book and found himself intrigued with the outcome. Though he was disappointed with Germany's blatant attack on Russia. Why attack an obviously stronger nation when yours was weak? It just didn't make much sense to him, he had waited years to attack the U.S., biding his time until he had a sizable military force. Only when he was assured of victory did he even think of backstabbing his own allies, practically absorbing them into his nation. The Commander had started out in Canada, brainwashing them into believing they were his loyal subjects. Of course after Markus and the Joes got wind of the brainwashing, every nation still standing sent assassins to kill or capture him. The memory of having a blade up against his throat was still fresh in his mind, even after nine years. He shuddered, absently rubbing at the place where an old scar should have been. He coughed, shifting his focus back to the task at hand.

The Commander picked up another old book from the shelf in front of him. This one was labeled
The Dynamics Of Chaos. It was a worn purple colored leather.

This one had better give me a way of staying here, I will NOT have the last possible remnant of my mind die! he thought savagely, as he hurriedly skimmed the pages. The yellowed paper making a swish sound as he turned them. He didn't know if his body had been destroyed, or if his experiment was a success. If it was successful, then he had nothing to worry about; but he didn't know that for sure. What would happen to him if his body was destroyed and the spell keeping him here broke? He would die, he was sure of it. So as he flipped through the pages of the worn book, his heart soared when he spotted a possession spell. One that didn't involve gods of myth. It seemed all he had to do was envision the person's body in his mind, say a few words, create a focal point, and whomever he took over would be his. Best of all, it was permanent. So even if the spell that brought him here ended, he would still be in this universe, albeit in a new body. Although he began to wonder what to use as a focal point, a pen possibly? It would be unassuming, but if it got destroyed he would cease to exist. Plus, pens weren't that durable to began with anyway. Well he'd cross that bridge when he could. Now the question was who to take over?

Perhaps the Mayor? Thoughts of him running this town began to play in his head, the images tickled his brilliant mind. All he would have to do afterward is grab his gear from this body, and from what he could tell the Mayor was immortal. Living through the centuries as his own descendants, pretending to be his own son, or in this case great grandson. Personally, the Commander wasn't sure how anyone could not tell that Richard Wilkins the Third was the same man that built the town. Yet again he dismissed this phenomenon as technologically made, it was likely that this 'Gate to Hell' was responsible in some way. Thankfully he knew what the Mayor looked like, one of the other books had given him a portrait to go by. So the Commander rose from his position on the floor, book in hand. As he walked out the nearest door, a smile parted his lips at the thought of ruling this Earth forever. He stepped off the last step of the stairs into the street, looking at the picture of the Mayor again. Luckily the book also included a map to the Mayor's office, hopefully the man would be there. There were no moving cars by now, only creatures and monsters going about, but none of them bothered him. Eric headed in the direction of the town hall. The smile on his face from before even wider, stretching from ear to ear as he walked on. The books still at the library were all but forgotten. He started to run, as he realized he might not have much time left. The Commander had a new focus and he was determined to claim it as his own.


Gobi Desert Hidden Base
Unknown Time

Xander slowly opened his eyes against the bright light, he heard a deep voice call out something. It was monotone, but he couldn't make it out. Was it a machine? His head began to clear from its fogginess and with it full consciousness came rolling forth. The smell hit him first, the air was overbearingly sterile and laced with a slight coppery scent. For a moment he thought he was in a hospital. He hated hospitals, ever since he was a kid they filled him with a sense of dread. So he immediately set out to leave, but when he tried to move his legs and couldn't, was when he really looked at the place. Xander wasn't sure where he was, but it definitely wasn't a hospital. If anything it looked like a freaky high tech laboratory, if the huge see-through screens and blood-soaked equipment were any indication.

…Wait, blood?! His eyes widened as they fell upon five bodies on the floor, four of which were soldiers; the other one looked like a young scientist. The soldiers wore a dull red and black color scheme, the black being Kevlar with the red as some sort of cloth underneath. He saw some kind of symbol stitched on the left side of their chests, but was unable to make it out. Their holsters empty, guns dropped on the floor. The scientist (compared to everything else) looked normal in his white lab coat. In short, the egghead was bland and unassuming, the man's black hair spilled over his face obscuring Xander's view. But from the way it fell, Xander was able to tell that the man was thin, maybe unhealthy.

Of course this was a moot point as the man was undeniably dead. The lab coat hung to the body hiding everything else about the man. Suddenly, his attention was captured by the helmet on his head. He didn't notice it at first, but now that his head was facing the direction of a terminal it was hard not to. The moment he looked at the reflection the thing had zoomed in, increasing his sight to sharp crystal clarity. He saw every notch and groove in the walls behind him. At the back of the helmet Xander saw what looked like straps with bits of metal. Raising up, he tried to reach with his hands to unclasp the silver buckles. Only to be stopped by something on his wrists. He looked down and his eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. There were strange metallic cuffs around his wrists and ankles. But that wasn't his cause for alarm, his body was. It was years older than it had been just a few minutes ago, with larger muscles, unbelievably white skin and what looked like scars on his chest. On top of that, he noticed his left arm was covered by a black gauntlet. No, not just covered, he realized with mounting horror that this glove was replacing it. Almost like a prosthetic, kind of like the cybernetic gloves Darth Vader wore. "What the-!" Xander screamed, but was cut off when he heard his own voice. It wasn't his, it was raspy and slightly higher. It was like someone had shoved his vocal cords into a blender and pushed purée, then put them back where they belonged, only upside down. In that instant his brain put the pieces together, the helmet, black gauntlet and the raspy voice. It all made sense now, he knew whose body this was. I'm in Cobra Commander's body…which means the guy is in…he shuddered at the thought of a terrorist wearing his face. A mechanical voice interrupted him.

Fifty-nine seconds to detonation The deep metallic thing sounded out. It was the same voice as the one he heard earlier, except this time he understood what it was. A bomb….

Oh great, I'm trapped in a lab strapped to a metal table, with dead bodies everywhere and now I get to be blown up, too. Absolutely NOT! Xander thought in panic. He struggled against the cuffs, but it didn't accomplish anything, except make his wrist bleed. The cut stung, yet all too soon the feeling stopped. At first he dismissed the limb as having gone numb, but as he moved it, he realized he couldn't feel the tingling sensation that should accompany it. He looked down at it, and couldn't believe his own eyes. I've got to be hallucinating! he thought. The cut was gone, not just healed or scabbed over, but completely and utterly Gone. He stared in shock at the place where the cut should be, until the machine stated the remaining seconds left before it detonated. He returned to the present, his body shaking with all the emotions he was feeling. Apparently in his shock over thirty-five seconds had gone by. So as he laid there on the cool surface, Xander Harris squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the nightmare to end. It's just a dream. Just a really vivid one that's all. I'll wake up in my bed, I probably ate too much candy again. Yeah, that's it! But as the cruel machine counted down, he became less and less sure of this. As it hit zero, he wondered if it would be quick, like all those brainy people said it would be.

It wasn't… instead it was painful, like hot lava being poured into his veins all around his body. His flesh burned. The table he was on turned to molten slag in an instant, Xander landed on his back. But it was right on top of the liquid metal. He screamed as his skin touched the surface of a liquefied metal sun, hoping, praying that the pain would stop. Unfortunately, the surrounding flames 'ate' the sound of his cries, washing them out with their own roars of hunger. The sound was so deafening he thought his eardrums had burst. The flames were so bright they hurt his eyes, but he couldn't close them. He saw deep darkness and fiery light, like flashes of a strobe light. Xander had heard of Hell, the endless torture, the horrific pain, but he never… For a moment that seemed to stretch an eternity, he thought he was in Hell, not the hell-like dimension described in the books in Giles' library, but the biblical one. THE HELL. This thought seemed to be confirmed when he realized his very body was re-growing, muscles and sinew reattaching with irritated flesh, only to burn up again and again like paper, multiplying his agony. It explained the strobe-like flashes, the darkness and light. His eyes were literally melting from the heat then re-growing… "No!" he tried to scream out in realization. Lungs filled with smoke, mind devoured by the flames, muscles aching, or in most places non-existent and seeing walls of flame everywhere. Xander laid on the charred ground the top of his body burning from fire, the other side being seared by a mishmash of hot metal and brittle earth. By this time he was unconscious, his mind having been overstimulated from the overload of pain. To the outside viewer the brief flash of light was over in a second, the entire compound going up in a blaze of fury. Gold, red, blue and yellow fought a battle of dominance, before the sizable mushroom-shaped cloud faded away.

When Xander woke up, he was surrounded by blackish-grey-covered ruins and pools of burning ground that sizzled as they met the cool air. His new body was fine, although covered in thick layers of ash. It had re-grown itself, completely healed and scar free. The same could not be said for his mind, chest and still missing arm however. In this moment of utter terror, only his sobs could be heard as he curled up into a ball. As he did, the burning liquid behind him dribbled off his back, collecting into its own steaming pool. He screamed as the running liquid left deep scars across his flesh, which quickly healed. They left white gashes of none-ash-covered skin. The setting sun peeked out from some of the grey clouds, lightly kissing his body. He didn't care about that, nor did he notice it, all Xander did was cry from the pain. The hot tears ran down his ash touched face, leaving streaks of clear white. The tears fell toward the bottom of the helmet, before dropping to the ground mixing with the dirt and ash, turning it into small droplets of dirty mud. The helmet had been drowned in the flames along with Xander, it was the only thing to survive the Hydrogen bomb's wrath… besides him and the strange-looking cuffs.


Mayor's Office Sunnydale 11:30pm

Well, this was unexpected, Eric thought in surprise as he slipped through the doors to the Mayor's office. He narrowly escaped being seen by the Mayor and his assistant, a Mr. Finch if he had heard right. The Commander squeezed between the door and a wall of the box like room, waiting behind the wooden construction for his prey to come close. He hadn't thought the Mayor would still have an assistant this late. Of course now that he was actually inside the building… Well, for now he'd just have to be quiet. The deep shadows of the indented wall to the right door obscured his body from sight, allowing him to sink deeper into the space it provided. It was a tight fit, but neither the Mayor nor Mr. Finch saw him as they walked through the two open doors.

"All righty, now that that's been taken care of… what about Mr. Ryane? I'm assuming by all the screams outside that his 'fun' has started," the Mayor's chipper voice asked as he walked into the dark room. He paused to turn on the lights, flipping the switch with an audible 'click.' The lights bathed the room in illuminated brightness. Now that he could see better, Eric found that the walls were a pale blue color. They were calming, soothing and brought with them a sense of comfort. In short… they made him feel sick.

"Yes, Mr. Ryane's distraction is working fine. But…" the man stopped mid-sentence leaving the one word hanging, Eric recognized this one as Mr. Finch. The younger of the two was hesitant, almost nervous as he spoke to the Mayor.

"But what, Allen, this whole Shindig gives me the perfect diversion to make the sacrifice to Lurconis. It wouldn't do to have a curious citizen interrupting the ritual, now would it? Besides, a hundred children going missing would frighten the public. Just think what it would do for my re-election campaign!" he exclaimed in a mournful tone, picking up a moist towelette from a box on his desk. "At least I managed to move up the timetable, thirty days was a bit of a stretch. Thirty years sounds much better, right?" Richard asked as he seated himself in his leather chair. Using the towelette to wipe his hands clean, even though there was nothing to wipe off. The Mayor wore a musty grey colored suit, had a slightly rounded face and neatly combed brown hair. The other man the Commander now knew as Allen, wore a black suit, and a red tie underneath. He also had black hair, unlike the Mayor's it was… presentable, not ugly, it was just there. A mumbled "Yes, sir," was heard from him. Eric noticed the man was shifting timidly on his feet and… sweating slightly. He'll die as soon as his usefulness runs out, he thought immediately upon seeing that, he detested timid people.

The Commander didn't know what the Mayor was talking about, maybe these 'rituals' had something to do with his agelessness? Whatever, he was tired of waiting and needed to hurry. The Commander roughly pushed the door away from himself, revealing his position to the two men. The five years he spent under Storm Shadow's instruction had paid off apparently. Years of training and practice had kept him hidden from the men, unfortunately his current body wasn't up to his old one's standards. It protested by way of sluggish, almost jerky and burned-out muscles. Unfortunately for his muscles, he didn't care, in a few seconds this wouldn't be his body anymore. He lunged at the Mayor, catching the man off guard as he ran forward. Eric tackled him to the floor, leather chair flying backward on its wheels as they landed on the ground. He punched Wilkins in the groin, being promptly rewarded with the sounds of tear-filled moans. He didn't need to do that, but it would make the 'switch' less noticeable. A crazy young man beating up the Mayor, supposedly to kill him, or whatever the media would think about it. No one would believe the attacker, especially now that he did this, if 'he' proclaimed to be in the wrong body tomorrow morning. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Mr. Finch run out the double doors. Spineless wimp, he thought coldly as he shifted his attention back to the struggling Mayor. The Commander stepped back for an instant, glancing around the room for something to use as a focal point.

"I don't know who you think you are, but when I-!" Wilkins gasped out, all the while trying to right himself. During their fall he had landed on his side, in a few seconds he was standing up again glaring daggers into his attacker. Eric shot a paralysis dart from his gauntlet at the man's neck, preventing any further conversation. Like a puppet with its strings cut, Richard Wilkins' body fell to the floor, his hands gripping at the dart. The Commander couldn't afford to be distracted now by useless chatter. A minute passed, then three… His eyes roamed over Wilkins' desk, searching until he found what he was looking for. It was simple, sturdy, unassuming and more durable than a fragile ink pen. He focused on a smooth green colored diamond, while picturing his new body in his mind and reciting the spell's words. "Miu vis safed!" he yelled out, using all of his concentration. He felt something pull at him, just as Mr. Finch ran back into the room holding a fire extinguisher, aiming to throw it at him. The Commander switched bodies with Mr. Wilkins in a flash of purple light. The world twisted in his mind's eye, becoming more like a spinning wheel. It was as though his essence was being crammed into an empty old room. In a second he was unconscious, exactly where he wanted to be.


Ethan's Costume Shop 11:37pm

"Now there's, the Ripper I knew!" Ethan Rayne exclaimed through gasps of pain. The Englishman leaned off to the side against a wall, clutching at his bruised ribs. His old friend had come to pay him a visit. Undoubtedly looking to stop his spell, though he wondered what had taken the old boy so long. Ethan had livened up the store in anticipation for his friend, cluttering the aisles, barricading the door to his statue of Janus and setting a few mystical traps. At the moment the building was practically bathed in darkness, only the twenty candles he lit earlier were providing any light. Everything was going to plan, except for the fact that Rupert had been late. Oh well, at least he had his fun. The chaos of the night was great, Superman wreaking havoc on Demons and trying to save people, Pirates running about, miniature street wars between Wolverine and Megatron, it was glorious! Of course, he had paid special attention to two persons in particular. Cobra Commander and Superman. Ethan could only imagine what those two would do tomorrow morning, having the powers/memories of titans could become …a hassle. They'll put a stop to the Mayor's silly ambitions, he thought with a ghost of a smile. Originally he had planned on using two other costumes for his goal, but after accidentally spilling a whole batch of his potion on them… well, they'd do just fine anyway. The other creatures would be here temporarily, as they should be. Ethan was brought out of his thoughts quite suddenly when Rupert kicked him again. Searing pain shot through his shin. He grunted from the pain, it was nothing compared to what they had done in their youths, but pain was pain.

"How do I stop the spell, Ethan!" Giles shouted in anger, it was the third time he'd asked that question. His brown colored tweed jacket had been cast aside during their fight, his friend now wore a white undershirt with the sleeves rolled up. Sweat glistened across his face in the candle light, big splotches of it staining his shirt. Parts of the fabric contained several rips, gashes across the front and on his tan colored pants. Ethan looked down at himself, his green shirt was ruffled, torn at the sleeves and his slacks were a little dirty. The spell had taken a bit more time than he thought it would, as such he hadn't had a chance to change his attire. Looking up, he watched as a myriad of emotions washed over his friend's face. Anger, fear, frustration and was that… Oh yes, there it was. Enjoyment. After all these years of running away from his past, burying his colorful history and presenting himself as a bumbling librarian. One night of chaos and the thing Giles fought so hard to cage, was let out. And it was all thanks to me! Ethan thought in glee. He got what he set out to accomplish, to prove that Giles' 'Good Watcher' routine was just an act, that the nickname his old friends gave him still applied. But, why was he not having fun? In the past he would have laughed or come up with something even more daring than this. After all, the transformations were nothing compared to the other things they had done together. Perhaps he should tell a joke, he was never really good with them, but if it got his old friend back in the mood…

"It was a hippie!" he laughed out between bouts of mild agony. His face filled with mirth, "A vampire hippie, with pink bunny ears, it ate the focal point. Then..." Ethan started to say but stopped, Giles had picked up a rusted crowbar from the floor. The iron implement having been used in their previous fight, it had dropped in favor of fists. He held it high, knuckles turning white as his fingers tightened their grip. Blinding rage clear on his face, Giles lashed out and…

"No, wait! I'll tell you!" Ethan shouted, holding up his hands to shield his head. Maybe he'd gone a little too far this time. He had succeeded in getting the Ripper out, but… Giles slowly lowered the crowbar, glaring at him with narrowed eyes.

"All right, but no more smart-mouthed remarks or stalling for time. I want answers, real answers!" his old friend spat out, each word carrying a promise of greater pain.

"Fine, old chum, it's the bust of Janus in the back, just smash it and the spell will be over," he deadpanned, looking like he lost a really fun game. Giles turned away from him, walking over to the barricaded back door. For a moment he paused, standing there in the dim candle light.

"We stopped being 'chums' a long time ago, Ethan. I had enough when you started to worship Chaos." Giles breathed out in weariness, then continued on to the door. Looks like the party's over, Ethan thought glumly as he shifted his weight to the other side. He started to move, making his way to a display table. He grabbed a hold of the end, using it to pull himself up to his full height.

I hadn't thought the night would end like this, not at all. Then he thought about his two aces, they would still be here after Rupert smashed the statue. A wide grin spread its way onto his face. He almost laughed, but he needed to stay quiet lest Rupert see his little trick. A special something he had learned in his travels across the magical subculture of Earth…


It took Giles several minutes to clear away the blockade. Clothes racks, plywood and a number of other things had been thrown up as a defense. Eventually he made it through, stepping past the doorway he saw the bust of Janus. The two headed 'Greek god of change' was pouring out magical energies like an oncoming typhoon. He rushed forward, bringing the crowbar back into a powerful swing and smashed it. Pieces of ceramic clattered to the floor. The spell ended in a mighty roar and a gust of tsunami-like wind. Thrusting Giles back a few feet. A blaze of brilliant red fire erupted from the fallen pieces on the floor, engulfing the fragments in hellfire. In a second they were gone, swallowed up by the flames. Giles stood there looking around the storage room, boxes and racks of unsold costumes filled the tiny space. He breathed out a sigh of relief, the blinding rage from before forgotten as he walked out. He never realized that Ethan was gone until he re-entered the front, the man having used a quick transportation spell to sneak away. Giles was more concerned with stopping the carnage and mayhem outside the store, plus he didn't really care where Ethan was right now. Personally, he just hoped that his kids were okay and that the damage of the night was reversible…