Knights of the Intrepid
Disclaimer: Don't own anything you recognize.
A/N: Alright, I get that people are getting the wrong message here, and, I want to clear this up without ruining the story so, here it goes.
This is NOT about Buffy, or the Slayers…well, it kind of is about the Slayers, but, not really. You'll see if you continue to read.
There is a large amount of OOC for the Slayers, and the reasoning for it will be revealed later on.
And, FYI, yes, I don't like Buffy, but, unlike some of my other, more well received stories, this is not about turning her into a monster (not that I really have to). This has nothing to do with her, absolutely nothing…at least, the reasonings behind the story have nothing to do with her. The thing that inspired me to do this was a movie called The Manchurian Candidate.
Everyone up to speed now? Then, I'll continue.
Oh, BTW, the dates are going by London standard time. And, this chapter was inspired by a nightmare I had.
§◙§
The United States; Boston, Massachusetts; Private Airstrip; September 29th, 2016:"I need a plane," Dana begged.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart," a greasy pilot said with a smile, "There's no planes available at the moment. Most of the pilots are going to bed right now, anyway."
"Please," she pressed on, "There must be someone."
The man sighed and picked up his book and began to check over the list to see if there was one pilot open for that day.
"…Well," he said after a moment, his body language indicating to her that he was uncomfortable with what he was about to say, "I wouldn't do this if I were you, but…there's one pilot open."
"What's wrong with him," Dana asked.
"…The last three female passengers he had sued the company for sexual harassment," he said with a sigh, "I'd fire his ass, but, it's his uncle who runs the company."
"I don't care," Dana said, "How much?"
"Every pilot here gets his own fee," he said, "You'll have to cover that with him."
"Where is he?"
§◙§
Donald Sinclair had been a pilot for near three years now, and he'd been a womanizer for even longer. Born and raised in Alabama, Don had been taught by his father that women were prizes to be sought after. Despite how many times they say 'no,' they really wanted it. That was why Don had been shocked by the suits against the company. All women wanted men to sex them up. Why would they ever sue about it?
At that moment, Donald was scrubbing down his plane, preparing for a nice, leisurely day at home, when something caught his eye. A thin, raven haired woman was coming up the tarmac to him. She was a little bit on the skinny side, but, that didn't stop her from looking sexy. Don smiled as he saw that she was heading his way.
He let out a wolf whistle and said, "Hey, there, little darlin'! What can Big Don do for you today?"
"Take me to London," she said to him, "And I'll make all the lawsuits against you go away."
That brought Don up real fast. He knew that his uncle would fire him if he got one more mark, but, to have them all disappear…that would put him back in the green again.
"How," he asked, wanting to get the whole story.
"I have dirt on the women you molested," he cringed, that was such a negative way to say it…on the other hand, if she had dirt, that was good enough for him.
"Well, lady," he smiled at her, "You got yourself a plane."
"Good," she glared at him, and he fought hard to keep from shitting himself, "Touch me, and you will die."
"…Understood," he responded, quivering as he did so, "Well…just let me finish scrubbing this down, and we'll be set to go."
§◙§
The United Kingdom; London, England; Watchers' Council Headquarters; September 29th, 2016:Andrew took the picture quickly as the man left the hall, knowing that he might get caught at any second. As soon as he was done, he quickly left the hall and went back into his office.
"Sit, Jess," he instructed the dog, who obeyed him as he sat down in the seat.
He loaded the camera into his computer and hacked into the INTERPOL, CIA, FBI, and Pentagon databanks and ran a search through their records for the man that he had photographed.
It took the search about five seconds before all four sources came back with one singular name.
"Jophry Zocas," Andrew read, "Wanted for arms dealing, the 2014 bombing of the ocean cruise liner San Diego. Suspected of having 'dirty bombs', suitcase bombs from the U.S.S.R., and of having Stinger missiles. Involved in the occult world, hit man for hire, terrorist for hire…and wanted for an assassination attempt on the President!"
Andrew gasped as he realized what this meant. Buffy and the Slayers were doing business with a terrorist. But, why? Their policy was 'no negotiation with human criminals.' Why was she disobeying her own laws?
"Bombs," Andrew muttered, "They want bombs."
His door opened, and Andrew looked up expectantly, keeping his face controlled as Buffy entered.
"Hey, Andrew," she greeted him, "I need you to send out an email. I want a number of Slayers back in London within the hour."
"And that number is…" she told him, and he gaped at her, "Buffy, that's…simply not possible. That's too many to want back in an hour."
"Trust me, Andrew," she sneered at him, "They'll be here. Now, send that email."
"…Yes, Ma'am," he muttered, and he did send it but, along with it, he sent an email to the overall Watcher Head.
Rupert Giles was at home today, taking some more sick leave to try and cure the cancer in his body with magic. It was working, but, slowly. Doctors had expected for him to die in 2010, but, he magicked his way past their expectations. Now, he just had to keep it up.
"I hope Rupert can do something about this," Andrew prayed.
§◙§
The United States; Portland, Maine; Private Airstrip; September 29th, 2016:"I still don't see why we have to stop here to get a seaplane," Don muttered irritably.
"Because, we'll need it," Dana answered.
§◙§
The United Kingdom; London, England; Watchers' Council Headquarters; September 29th, 2016:"You have them," Buffy asked.
"Yes," Jophry responded with a grin, "I can't wait to see what kind of destruction you'll do with them."
"Plenty, I guarantee," Buffy smiled, and she turned to the conclave of Slayers behind her, "Girls, grab either a suitcase, an orb, or a satchel."
"Those of you who grab an orb, come with me," Jophry shouted out.
"Suitcases, with me," one of his companions shouted.
"Satchels, with me," the other shouted.
Buffy sat down in her chair and watched happily as her daughters learned how to use these deadly devices. Soon, very soon, they would use them.
§◙§
Xander leaned against his cell wall, thinking. He had already tried escaping, three times, and each time, the two Slayers guarding him would just toss him back inside. Ever since his incarceration two days ago, he had been thinking of ways to escape his predicament but, so far, all he was coming up with was…bleh!
He looked up as he heard the cell door unlocked, and blinked as his eyes were assaulted by the light on the other side.
"You have a visitor," one of his guards snickered at him.
"You have three minutes," the other said, and she pushed in a tiny fellow that he knew very well.
"Andrew," he exclaimed, happy to see a friendly face, "What's going-"
"I don't have time," he said, and in Klingon, too, "Listen, Xander, there's some weird stuff going on upstairs. Buffy's trading a bunch of our mages for a ton of bombs, some of which I know are illegal in this country."
"She's getting bombs," he expressed his doubt, in Klingon, knowing that Andrew wanted him to speak that way for security, "Why?"
"I don't know, though I have a guess," he answered, "But, that's not all. She's also called in a large number of Slayers, just a few hours ago. I think she's getting ready for something."
"…How's Jesse," he asked.
"He's fine," Andrew said, "But, Xander, I've already gone to Giles with all this, and he doesn't know what to do. We've got a serious situation on our hands here."
"…The best thing you can do," Xander said, "Is to monitor the situation as best as you can and, if you find out what they're going to do, try and alert whoever you can."
"Alright," Andrew agreed, "That was what I was going to do anyway. Man, I'm scared. I thought Slayers were the GOOD guys."
"I know, Andrew," Xander muttered, "Me, too. But, man, you can do this. You know you can."
"Time's up," the Slayers yelled, "Get out."
"…I'll come by after I get more info," Andrew promised, "Keep safe, man."
"You, too," he said, "Even more."
§◙§
"Are we ready," Buffy asked.
"Yes, Ma'am," the multitude of Slayers responded en masse.
"Good," she turned to their mages, who were lead by Willow, all of them staring forward in a daze, "You know what to do?"
They all nodded their heads.
"Do it," she instructed.
§◙§
The United States; Near Fayetteville, North Carolina; Fort Bragg; September 29th, 2016:Specialist Andre Corbett marched along with his squad, moving with a steadiness and unity that perfectly defined their roles as the best the United States military had to offer. As he marched, he caught sight of something he'd never thought he'd see on base.
A female, dressed in civilian garments, standing smack dab in the center of the base.
"Halt," he ordered his squad, and he fell out and walked over to her, "Can I help you, Ma'am?"
She just smiled at him and said, "Pulsus."
After that, he, and everyone else at Fort Bragg, knew no more.
§◙§
The Kingdom of Belgium; Brussels; North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) Headquarters; September 29th, 2016:
Secretary General Theodore Haricot, born in the United Kingdom, watched with a grimace as the representatives of two warring countries, France and Italy, attempted to settle their differences through peaceful diplomacy, only to have it stop short by their own egos. He sighed, this was the part of the job he hated…dealing with bureaucratic idiots who thought their interests were more important than their country's interests.
The conversation came to an abrupt stop, however, and Theodore looked up to see what the trouble was.
Standing in the middle of the room was a young girl, not even over sixteen. She stood there with a suitcase in her hands.
"Oh, my God," the representative from Russia gasped out, "It's a bomb!"
Security forces pounced at that, previously having been frozen due to her sudden appearance, but, it was too late. She had already armed the weapon and all she had to do was press the button that would detonate it.
"God have mercy on us," he muttered, and those were his last words before his body, and the bodies of everyone in Brussels, were incinerated.
§◙§
International Waters; The U.S.S. Ronald Reagan (CVN-76); September 29th, 2016:
"Captain," a young lieutenant called out, "We've got something on radar."
Captain Joseph Thornbury turned away from the computers on the bridge and looked over at the young officer, asking, "What is it, son?"
"It's a small plane, Sir," he responded, "Just off the port bow. I wouldn't have brought it up, but, it's abnormally low in altitude."
"Hmm…probably just some civilians wanting to get a closer look at the ship," the Captain muttered, "Well, let's be on the safe side. Hail them."
"Aye, Sir," the lieutenant went over to communications and began to call out along the waves.
§◙§
"I don't like this," Don said as he flew in a bit closer to the Reagan, "The Navy doesn't like planes flying this low or this close to their ships."
"I figured that," Dana said to him, "But, I just know we need to stick around here."
"…You're getting me off the hook," Don muttered, "Guess that means you're in charge."
§◙§
Petty Officer Chuck Roberts had been in the Navy a good six years now, and still loved it. His job aboard the Reagan, or, as many of its crew liked to call it, the Gipper, was to guide incoming aircraft along the flight deck safely, ensuring that they came in to the elevators with minimal fuss. He did his job well, and was looking at a promotion to Chief Petty Officer next year. He wouldn't normally have that kind of rank, but, he was in good with his CO and XO thanks to his meritorious achievements (he'd been involved in some air rescues, and had saved an officer from going overboard during a hurricane).
He was guiding in an F/A-18 to the elevators when he saw it. First, there was nothing, then, within the amount of time it took him to blink, there was a girl standing there. She had a satchel slung around her shoulder.
"Hey," he shouted out as the elevator took the aircraft down, "What do you think you're doing here?"
§◙§
"It's happening," Dana whispered.
Don looked at her oddly, completely confused with what she was talking about. Then, it happened.
A blast erupted from the flight deck of the U.S.S Reagan, spitting out debris from the ship, the aircraft, the personnel, everything.
"OH, SHIT," he yelled, "HANG ON!"
He pulled up and to the right as fast as he could, hoping to avoid the falling mountain of debris that was sure to rain on him.
§◙§
The United States; New York City, New York; The Intrepid Sea-Air-Space Museum; September 29th, 2016:
"Mayday, mayday, mayday," Arthur King said into the radio as his plane began a rapid decent, "I'm going down here! Intrepid, I'm going to try and land on your deck, over."
"Negative," the response came back, "Aircraft are still on the flight deck."
"Look, I'm falling out of the sky here," he yelled, "You're closed for the day, and I'm small enough to land there. If I don't land there, I'll have to land in the harbor, and that could kill someone!"
A pause came, and his descent began to increase as gravity took its hold over him.
"…You're cleared for landing," the Intrepid responded, "I hope you have a good reason why you're crashing."
"Me, too," Arthur muttered and he tried to bring his plane in for a landing, hoping against hope that this worked.
After a little more than five seconds, his plane was within a foot of the ship and he was trying to land steadily. He knew he would crash, but, he hoped to survive it. As he hit, he felt the plane shudder and scream in protest to the hard deck. He heard, and felt, the tire bars snap under the pressure, and he fell even closer to the deck.
That made Arthur sigh in relief. It meant that there was more friction to help him stop before he fell off the other side.
Then, there was someone in his way…a girl. Arthur shouted out and tried to get her to move, but, the plane was going to fast.
It rammed into her, and the propeller embedded its blades into her chest and waist.
§◙§
A/N: If anyone thinks that I would have the Slayers willingly do this, then, I am kindly asking those that do to BUGGER OFF!