T-X Buffy (On Hiatus)

by Brenna's Urbangirl Projects

On that fateful Halloween night. Buffy is talked into wearing a different costume. When the spell is ended, Buffy finds out she is no longer human, but a Terminator.

4. Chapter 4: What's My Line Part 1

Chapter 4: What's My Line Part 1

November 17, 1997 – Monday

Sunnydale High

It was a sunny day, but inside Sunnydale High's Career Fair, Buffy couldn't help but feel a cloud of gloom hanging over her. Her eyes were fixated on the test form in front of her, her thoughts drifting to the uncertain future. Banners adorned the walls, boldly proclaiming "Career Fair Starts Tomorrow," and she couldn't help but wonder if she even had a place in that world.

Seated beside her, Xander and Dawn seemed equally bewildered by the test questions. Xander, with a furrowed brow, raised a question that seemed to mirror the confusion in Buffy's mind. "Are you a people person or do you prefer keeping your own company?" he recited from the test, his voice filled with a peculiar mix of seriousness and frustration. "What if I'm a people person who keeps his own company by default?"

Dawn couldn't resist chiming in with a quip, her words laced with sarcasm. "So, mark 'none of the above,'" she suggested, even though they all knew that wasn't an option.

Xander sighed, looking at the test as if it were a perplexing riddle. "There is no box for 'none of the above,'" he lamented, his frustration evident. "That would introduce too many variables into their mushroom-head, number-crunching little world."

In the midst of this existential crisis, Willow breezed into the room, her cheerful presence a much-needed contrast to the group's gloomy atmosphere. Her eyes caught Xander's, and she couldn't help but notice the bitterness that had crept into his tone. A warm smile graced her lips as she teasingly remarked, "I'm sensing bitterness."

Xander's frustration continued to simmer, his voice edged with annoyance as he voiced his discontent. "It's just, these people can't tell from one multiple-choice test what we're supposed to do for the rest of our lives," he grumbled, his discontent palpable.

Willow's eyes widened with a glimmer of curiosity, her youthful enthusiasm getting the better of her. "I'm kind of curious to find out what sort of career I could have," she admitted, her voice tinged with intrigue.

Xander, on the other hand, remained the voice of skepticism and spontaneity, unwilling to let go of the thrill of youth. He questioned, "And suck all the spontaneity out of being young and stupid? I'd rather live in the dark."

Willow, ever the wise and grounded friend, offered a gentle reminder. "We won't be young forever," she said, her tone soft and filled with a hint of wisdom beyond her years.

Buffy, who had been silently contemplating her own unique situation, finally spoke up, her voice heavy with a sense of longing. "Will," she began, her voice a whisper in the midst of their conversation.

Willow turned to Buffy, her eyes widening as she suddenly realized the depth of what she had just said. In a moment of clarity, she acknowledged the uniqueness of Buffy's existence since her transformation into something more than human. Her lips curved into a tender smile as she leaned over and planted a kiss on Buffy's cheek.

Cordelia's voice cut through the air, drawing the attention of Buffy, Dawn, Xander, and Willow. She approached their group with an air of confidence, test form in hand, flanked by her usual entourage of Cordelia wannabes. With an air of self-assuredness, she read aloud, "'I aspire to help my fellow man.'" She swiftly checked the box and paused, contemplating her response. However, her true colors shone through as she added, "I mean, as long as he's not, like, smelly or dirty or something gross," with a dismissive tone.

Xander, no stranger to Cordelia's often shallow outlook on life, sighed in resignation. "Cordelia Chase," he muttered, "always ready to offer a helping hand to the rich and pretty."

Cordelia met Xander's comment with a frosty smile. "Which, lucky me, excludes you twice!" With that, she moved on, her Cordettes trailing in her wake, giggles and laughter accompanying their departure.

Xander couldn't help but level an impassive stare at Cordelia's retreating figure. "Is murder always a crime?" he mused aloud, a hint of sarcasm in his tone.

Meanwhile, Buffy furrowed her brow, her gaze shifting back to the test form in front of her. "Do I like shrubs?" she read aloud; her expression puzzled.

Xander couldn't help but offer a wry comment to lighten the mood. "That's between you and your God," he quipped, his humor providing a momentary relief.

However, Buffy's response was a stark reminder of her changed reality. She turned to Xander; her expression heavy with the weight of her condition. "Xander, I'm a machine. God doesn't exist for me anymore," she said, the reality of her transformation evident in her words. She then turned to Willow her eyes filled with curiosity. "What'd you put?" she inquired, craning her neck to get a glimpse of Willow's test form.

Willow offered a small smile and a hint of amusement in her voice. "I came down on the side of shrubs," she confessed.

Buffy let out a soft chuckle and settled back in her seat, nodding in agreement. "Go shrubs," she agreed, taking a moment to appreciate the simplicity of the answer.

But the weight of her own circumstances soon overshadowed the lighthearted moment. She put down her pencil, her frown deepening as she voiced her frustrations. "I shouldn't even be bothering with this. It's all moot-ville for me. No matter what my aptitude test says, I already know my deal."

Xander nodded in understanding. "Yep," he acknowledged, "High risk, sub-minimum wage…"

Buffy held her pencil in front of him with a confident smile. "Terminator protecting Willow and Dawn," she affirmed, the love and dedication in her eyes unwavering.

Willow's loving gaze remained fixed on Buffy as she asked a gentle question, a glimmer of curiosity in her eyes. "So why are you even taking the test?" she inquired, her voice filled with genuine concern.

Buffy offered a wry smile in response. "It's Principal Snyder's 'hoop' of the week," she explained with a touch of sarcasm. "He's not happy unless I'm jumping. Believe me, I wouldn't be here otherwise—"

Before Buffy could finish her thought, Willow interjected, her voice soft and understanding. "You're not even a teensy-weensy bit curious about what kind of career you could have had?" she asked, acknowledging the unique position Buffy found herself in as a Terminator.

Buffy contemplated the question for a moment, her thoughts intersecting with Cameron's.

/ I know I am.

Buffy's response was a mixture of resignation and curiosity. "Maybe a little," she admitted with a casual shrug. "But being a machine, I could get any job I wanted right now. I have files detailing a lot of potential avenues of exploration."

Restfield Cemetery

It was usually quiet in the cemetery, the tranquility broken only by the occasional whisper of the wind or the distant rumble of thunder. But tonight, a storm was threatening, casting an ominous atmosphere over the graveyard. The air crackled with anticipation, and Buffy could feel the electricity in the air as she made her way among the graves.

Every step she took, she was acutely aware of her surroundings, her senses heightened by the impending storm. Dead leaves danced and twirled across the ground, their dry rustle adding to the eerie ambiance. The wind howled through the trees, sending shivers down Buffy's spine as she scanned the darkness for any signs of trouble.

And then, amidst the cacophony of nature's symphony, there came a sound unlike any other. It was subtle at first, barely audible over the din of the storm, but it was enough to make Buffy pause in her tracks. Tink tink tink. It echoed through the night, sending a chill down her spine.

Frowning, Buffy strained to identify the source of the sound, her senses on high alert. Her eyes swept over the darkened tombstones until they landed on the mausoleum, looming ominously in the distance. It stood apart from the other graves, a silent sentinel guarding its secrets.

As she approached the ancient structure, the tinkling sound grew louder, drawing her inexorably closer. With each step, her heart pounded in her chest, a mixture of fear and curiosity driving her forward. And then, she saw it.

The iron door of the mausoleum stood open, a beacon of light cutting through the darkness. Buffy hesitated for a moment, her instincts screaming at her to turn back. But her curiosity got the better of her, and she stepped inside.

The flickering glow of a torch illuminated the interior, casting eerie shadows that danced across the walls. And there, huddled in the corner, was a dark figure, oblivious to Buffy's presence as it worked feverishly at the vault door.

Time seemed to stand still as Buffy watched, her breath catching in her throat. With a final click, the lock gave way, and the thief seized their prize from within the vault.

With a swift yet silent retreat, Buffy darted out of the mausoleum, her senses still on high alert. She positioned herself strategically at the base of the weathered steps, her stance relaxed yet ready for action as she awaited the emergence of the figure within.

As the thief stepped into the moonlit night, their form illuminated by the eerie glow of the torches, Buffy's voice cut through the darkness like a blade. "Does 'rest in peace' have no sanctity to you people?" Her words dripped with mock surprise, a hint of disdain lacing her tone. "Oh, I forgot—you're not people."

The vampire, caught off guard by Buffy's sudden appearance, froze in his tracks. Clutching the red velvet bag tightly in one hand, he braced himself for confrontation, his senses attuned to any sign of danger. But he hadn't anticipated Buffy's keen awareness of her surroundings, just as her sensors noticed the second vampire stealthily approaching from behind her.

As Buffy's arm transformed into a flame thrower, ready to unleash its fiery wrath, the second vampire raised its claws in preparation for a surprise attack. But before it could strike, Buffy spun around with lightning speed, delivering a ferocious jump kick that sent the vampire hurtling backward.

With the agility of a seasoned warrior, Buffy seized her foe and drove its head with bone-crushing force into the unforgiving trunk of a nearby tree. The vampire crumpled to the ground, stunned by the sudden onslaught.

Without hesitation, Buffy unleashed a torrent of flames from her weapon, engulfing the vampire in a blazing inferno. In a matter of moments, the creature disintegrated into nothing more than a pile of ash, scattered by the wind like forgotten memories.

"One down," Buffy declared triumphantly, her voice echoing in the stillness of the night. With a swift pivot, she readied herself for the next confrontation, her muscles tense and coiled with anticipation.

But to her surprise, the second vampire was nowhere to be found.

Frowning, Buffy scanned the deserted steps of the mausoleum, her keen eyes searching for any sign of movement. "One gone," she grumbled under her breath, her frustration palpable in the quiet darkness.

"Cameron?" she called out; her voice tinged with uncertainty.

/Sorry, Buffy. Our sensors were trained on the vampire we just dusted.

Buffy stood rooted to the spot; her brow furrowed in consternation as Cameron's text scrolled across her vision. Despite her enhanced hearing, there was nothing but silence in the air, no telltale signs of the vampire's whereabouts.

A sense of unease settled over Buffy as she strained her senses, listening intently for any faint rustle of movement or the softest whisper of breath. But the night remained stubbornly still, offering no clues to the vampire's mysterious disappearance.

Summers Home

As Buffy approached her window, the silhouette of Angel moving within her room caught her eye, causing her to pause mid-climb. She stood there for a moment, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight, silently observing her former love.

Angel's presence filled the room, his restless movements betraying a sense of unease as he wandered among her belongings. Buffy watched as he picked up one personal item after another, his movements hesitant and uncertain.

There was a tension in the air, palpable even from outside the window, as Buffy debated whether to announce her presence or slip away unnoticed. But something in Angel's demeanor, the subtle tightening of his muscles, urged her to make her presence known.

With deliberate steps, Buffy crossed the threshold into her room, the sound of her landing echoing softly against the wooden floor. Angel startled at the noise, his eyes widening in surprise as he turned to face her.

"Buffy," he breathed, relief flooding his features. "You scared me."

Buffy couldn't help but smirk at his reaction. "Now you know what it feels like, stealth-guy," she teased, her tone laced with amusement. "So, just dropping by for some quality time with Mr. Gordo?"

Angel blinked, momentarily confused by her reference. "Excuse me?"

"The pig," Buffy clarified with a chuckle, nodding towards the stuffed toy still in his hand.

Realization dawned on Angel as he looked down at the plush toy in his hand, a sheepish grin tugging at the corners of his lips. Hastily, he replaced the stuffed animal on the shelf, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "Oh, I, no—" Buffy couldn't help but notice the curiosity in his gaze as he spoke. "Though out of curiosity," he began tentatively, "do you still keep these things because they remind you of your human life?"

"That and they do hold sentimental value," Buffy explained with a wistful smile, her gaze drifting momentarily to the plush toy resting on the shelf. "Mr. Gordo used to be a security blanket for me when I was younger." She shifted her attention back to Angel, her expression softening with familiarity. "So, what's up?" she asked casually, though beneath her nonchalant demeanor, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of apprehension at his unexpected visit.

"Just thought I would let you know I've decided when I'm leaving Sunnydale," Angel said, his voice barely above a whisper, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air.

"You don't have to whisper," Buffy reassured him, her tone light despite the gravity of their conversation. "Mom's in L.A. till Thursday. Art buying or something." She glanced towards the closed bedroom door, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "And I expect Dawn is awake, waiting on me to reassure her I'm okay."

"Then why'd you come in through the window?" Angel inquired, curiosity coloring his tone as he sought to understand her actions.

"Habit," Buffy replied with a shrug, a hint of sheepishness in her admission. "Even though Mom knows I'm the Slayer now, I like to try and not wake her if I can help it. So, it's easier to come in through the window than the door."

"Buffy?" Dawn's voice called out from behind the closed door, her curiosity piqued by the conversation unfolding in her sister's room. With a soft creak, the door swung open, revealing Dawn's tousled hair and sleepy eyes. "Hi, Angel," she greeted warmly when she spotted the vampire, her smile genuine despite the late hour.

"Hello, Dawn," Angel greeted warmly, his voice a soft contrast to the tension that hung in the air.

"So, when are you leaving?" Buffy asked, her tone betraying a hint of resignation as she braced herself for his response.

"I was thinking after your birthday," Angel replied, his words heavy with the weight of impending departure. He remembered Buffy mentioning her birthday was in January, and he had hoped to give her some time before he left.

"Oh, surprise," Buffy retorted curtly, her sarcasm cutting through the silence like a knife. "Angel wants to ruin my birthday with a farewell." She could feel Angel's gaze on her, his confusion palpable, and she couldn't bear to meet his eyes. "Sorry," she muttered quietly, her tone softened with remorse. "I've been cranky miss all day. It's not you."

Angel's brow furrowed with concern as he watched Buffy, his heart heavy with the knowledge of her pain. "What is it then?" he asked gently, his voice filled with genuine concern for her well-being.

"It's career week," Dawn interjected, her voice breaking the tension with a touch of insight. "Because Buffy is a Terminator, she doesn't see a future for herself. Sometimes Buffy wants a normal life. Like she had before."

Angel nodded in understanding as he turned his gaze towards Buffy, his expression thoughtful. "Before you were called as a Slayer," he murmured, his words laden with a sense of nostalgia for the simpler times that seemed so distant now.

A heavy silence settled between them, punctuated only by the soft hum of the night outside. Buffy lifted her head, her eyes meeting her reflection in the mirror beside her bed. In the glass, she could see the image of herself and Dawn, their features mirrored back at them. But Angel stood beside her, a ghostly presence devoid of reflection.

"Yeah, it would be nice to do normal things like go to the chess club or football games," Buffy mused, her voice tinged with a hint of longing for a life untouched by the supernatural.

"Is that what you want?" Angel inquired gently, his concern evident in his tone. "Football games?"

Buffy hesitated, the weight of her responsibilities pressing down on her shoulders like a heavy burden. "Maybe. Maybe not," she replied with a shrug, uncertainty clouding her thoughts. "But you know what?" A bitter edge crept into her voice as she felt the familiar tendrils of self-pity creeping in, unwanted but unavoidable. "I'm never going to get the chance to find out. I'm stuck in this deal."

"I don't want you to feel stuck," Angel expressed softly after a moment, his eyes reflecting his genuine concern for Buffy's well-being.

Buffy sighed, the weight of her reality pressing down on her shoulders like an unyielding burden. "There's not much that can be done about it," she admitted with resignation. "I am stuck. There is no way to turn me back into a human. The transformation on Halloween night was one way. And even if I could become human again, I would still have been a Slayer."

Angel's gaze shifted towards the mirror, his keen eyes scanning the reflection before settling on something above it. "Was this part of your normal life?" he asked, his fingers reaching past Buffy to pluck a photograph from the frame.

In the picture, a younger Buffy smiled brightly as she executed a perfect arabesque while figure skating. Dawn's face softened as she accepted the photograph from Angel, memories flooding back to her. "Buffy's Dorothy Hamill phase," she explained fondly. "Her room in L.A. was this major shrine—Dorothy posters, Dorothy dolls. She even got the Dorothy haircut."

Buffy felt a flush of embarrassment creep into her cheeks at the mention of her childhood obsession. "Thereby securing a place for myself in the Geek Hall of Fame," she quipped, a self-deprecating smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Angel regarded Buffy with genuine interest, his curiosity piqued by her revelation. "You wanted to be like her," he observed, his voice tinged with understanding.

"I wanted to be her," Buffy corrected him softly, her voice carrying a hint of longing for a time long gone. "Our parents used to fight a lot. Skating was an escape. I felt safe..."

As Angel carefully replaced the photograph in its frame, he couldn't help but feel a pang of empathy for the young girl Buffy had once been, seeking solace on the ice amidst the turmoil of her family life. "When was the last time you put on your skates?" he inquired, a spark of mischief dancing in his eyes as a half-smile graced his lips.

Dawn's voice broke through the momentary silence, her words laden with a hint of sadness. "She hasn't skated since before the move to Sunnydale," she revealed, her gaze drifting towards her sister with a mixture of fondness and concern. "Since before Lothos and being called as a Slayer."

A thoughtful expression crossed Angel's features as he took a step closer to the sisters, his gaze fixed on Buffy with unwavering determination. "There's a rink out past Route Seventeen," he informed them, his voice low and earnest. "It's closed on Tuesdays."

Buffy looked up at him, her eyes searching his face for any sign of deception. "Tomorrow's Tuesday," she remarked cautiously, a flicker of uncertainty shadowing her features.

"I know," Angel replied with a gentle nod. "Why don't we make that our official farewell. That way, when I leave after your birthday, it won't be as bad."

A warmth spread through Buffy's chest at Angel's suggestion, a glimmer of hope igniting within her heart. "I'd like that," she said softly, a genuine smile gracing her lips as she looked up at him with renewed determination.

November 18, 1997 – Tuesday

Sunnydale High

Dawn, Buffy, and Willow strolled past Xander, their conversation swirling around them like a protective bubble, oblivious to the world outside. "You and Angel are going skating?" Willow's voice dripped with a hint of jealousy; her brows furrowed in concern at the thought of her girlfriend spending time with her ex-lover. "Alone?"

Dawn's gaze shifted to Willow; her expression curious. "Are you jealous, Willow?" she prodded gently, her tone tinged with understanding.

Willow nodded slowly; her admission laced with vulnerability. "Yes. Can't I be jealous of my girlfriend going to see her old boyfriend?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Buffy interjected, her eyes meeting Willow's with a knowing look. "Will," she said, her tone gentle yet firm. "Angel and I are going there to say goodbye properly. That way, when he leaves after my birthday in two months, he doesn't tarnish it then."

Willow's features softened as Buffy's words sank in, her initial jealousy giving way to understanding and empathy. She reached out to squeeze Buffy's hand, silently offering her support in this bittersweet moment.

"I'm sorry, Buffy," Willow said, her voice tinged with remorse. "I didn't mean to doubt you or your intentions with Angel. It's just... I worry, you know?"

Buffy nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. "I know, Will. And I appreciate you looking out for me," she replied, her gratitude evident in her tone. "But Angel and I both need this closure, for our own sakes."

They turned as Xander caught up with them, his demeanor tense and his expression troubled, sending a ripple of concern through the group. One look at his face told them he was severely disturbed about something, his usual jovial demeanor replaced by a cloud of unease.

"Wouldn't you three say you know me about as well as anyone?" Xander demanded, his voice tinged with frustration. "Maybe even better than I know myself?"

"What's this about?" Willow sounded wary; her brow furrowed in concern as she waited for Xander to elaborate on his cryptic question.

"When you look at me, do you think prison guard?" Xander asked bluntly, his words hanging in the air like a heavy weight.

The three girls paused, exchanging hesitant glances as they looked him over appraisingly, trying to make sense of his sudden distress.

"Crossing guard, maybe," Dawn ventured cautiously, her tone hesitant as she tried to offer some reassurance. "But prison guard?"

Xander's indignation flared, his frustration bubbling to the surface as he struggled to come to terms with his unsettling revelation. "They just put up the assignments for the Career Fair," he explained, his voice tinged with bitterness. "And according to my test results, I can look forward to being gainfully employed in the growing field of corrections."

Buffy couldn't help but tease him gently, a hint of humor in her voice as she tried to lighten the mood. "At least you'll be on the right side of the bars," she quipped, her words laced with affection for her friend.

"Laugh now, missy. They assigned you to the booth for Law Enforcement Professionals," Xander teased, a playful glint in his eye as he attempted to lighten the mood.

Buffy chuckled at Xander's comment, her smile softening the tension that had settled over the group. Despite her initial apprehension about her assigned profession, she couldn't help but appreciate Xander's attempt to inject some levity into the situation.

/It might not be a bad profession, Buffy. You can be paid to safeguard Dawn and Willow's lives while also protecting the rest of Sunnydale.

Buffy paused; her thoughts momentarily interrupted by Cameron's words as they scrolled across her vision. She considered Cameron's perspective, weighing the potential benefits of a career in law enforcement against the uncertainties that lay ahead.

Cameron had a point. As a law enforcement professional, Buffy would have the opportunity to use her skills to protect not only her friends and loved ones but also the entire community of Sunnydale.

"And Willow, you actually got the same results," Xander said, casting a glance over at his redheaded friend, a hint of surprise coloring his tone.

"Really?" Willow's eyes widened in astonishment, her expression a mix of disbelief and curiosity. "I guess the part of me that is John Connor is like, law enforcement would be a good place to be in case the world comes to an end."

Xander nodded in agreement, a faint smile playing on his lips as he considered Willow's reasoning. "Yeah, I can see that," he replied, his voice tinged with amusement.

"Well, I need to see Giles," Buffy announced suddenly, a sense of urgency in her tone as she mentioned their Watcher's name. "He's on this Tony Robbins hyper-efficiency kick. He wants me to check in with him now every day after homeroom. I'm like, Giles, I'm a Terminator. But he still wants me to check in." With a wave goodbye, she hurried off, leaving her friends and sister behind.

Dawn turned to Xander, a furrow forming on her brow as she sought clarification. "You didn't check to see which seminar I was assigned to, did you?" she asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

"I did," Xander assured her, his expression earnest as he met her gaze. "And you weren't."

"I wasn't what?" Dawn's confusion was palpable, her brow furrowing even further as she struggled to make sense of Xander's words.

"On any of the lists," Xander confirmed with a solemn nod, his expression grave as he delivered the news to Dawn.

Willow's brows knitted together in puzzlement. "But you handed in my test, right? You used a number two pencil?" she inquired, turning to Dawn with a glimmer of hope.

Dawn nodded in affirmation, her own confusion mirroring Willow's. "I did," she confirmed, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "Why wouldn't my name be on the lists?"

Xander pondered the situation for a moment, his brow furrowed in thought. "My guess is you must've passed," he concluded, his tone hopeful as he searched for a logical explanation.

"It's not the kind of test you pass or fail," Dawn interjected, her voice tinged with frustration at the ambiguity of the situation.

"Your name wasn't up there, Dawnster," Xander reiterated, his tone regretful as he prepared to head off to class.

"What do you think this means?" Dawn asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty as she watched Xander walk off, his figure gradually disappearing into the distance.

"Probably nothing, Dawnie," Willow reassured her, her tone soothing as she placed a comforting hand on Dawn's shoulder. "I mean, they probably excluded you because of your age. You are, after all, two years younger than everyone else."

Dawn nodded slowly, trying to quell the unease that churned in her stomach. "Maybe," she conceded, her thoughts still lingering on the unsettling revelation. As Willow turned to head for class, leaving her to ponder the situation alone, Dawn couldn't shake the feeling of worry that gnawed at her insides. She watched her sister's girlfriend disappear into the crowd, her mind racing with unanswered questions and a growing sense of apprehension about what the future might hold.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

The books teetered precariously, their weight shifting dangerously as Giles struggled to set them down. With a sudden grace, Buffy lunged forward and caught them just in time.

"Oh, Buffy," Giles breathed a sigh of relief, a grateful smile spreading across his face. "Thank you."

Together, they eased the stack of books down safely onto the table, the threat of disaster averted for the moment. As they worked, Giles continued to speak, his attention divided between Buffy and the task at hand.

"I've been indexing the Watcher Diaries covering the past two centuries," he informed her, his voice tinged with a hint of amusement. "You'd be amazed at how pompous and long-winded some of these Watchers were."

Buffy couldn't help but stifle a chuckle at Giles' remark, her lips twitching with suppressed amusement. "Color me stunned," she replied, her tone laced with sarcasm as she shared in Giles' wry observation.

"I trust last night's patrol was fruitful," Giles continued, his attention shifting to a notebook he had opened before him, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"Semi. I caught one of two vamps after they stole something from this jumbo mausoleum at the cemetery—" Buffy began, recounting the events of her patrol from the previous night.

"They were stealing?" Giles interjected; his voice laced with concern as he processed Buffy's revelation.

"Yep. They had tools and the whole nine yards," Buffy confirmed, her tone matter-of-fact as she described the vampires' nefarious activities.

/What does that statement mean?

Buffy paused; her thoughts interrupted by Cameron's inquiry. She considered the AI's words, a frown forming on her brow as she tried to decipher the meaning behind the expression. "I have no idea off hand, to tell the truth, Cam," she thought toward the AI, her mind momentarily distracted by the mystery.

Meanwhile, Giles, visibly disturbed by Buffy's revelation, began to pace back and forth, his agitation evident in the restless movements of his hands. "Giles, you're in pace mode," Buffy scolded, her voice tinged with concern. "What gives?"

"The vampire who escaped, did you see what he took?" Giles inquired; his voice tinged with concern as he sought to uncover the extent of the threat they faced.

/I am replaying memory files of last night. We saw something be taken out but not what it was.

Buffy nodded as Cameron's words scrolled across her vision, her brow furrowing in frustration. "Sorry, Cameron just went through our memory files of the incident," Buffy explained to her Watcher. "We never got a glance at what was taken."

Giles' expression darkened with concern as he processed this information, his mind racing to assess the potential implications of the missing item. "So, you made no effort to find out what was taken?" he persisted, his tone edged with urgency.

Buffy looked up at him, a flicker of surprise crossing her features at his sharpness. "I'm a Terminator, Giles, or have you forgotten?" she retorted, her voice tinged with frustration. "I have perfect recall. And whatever it was, was wrapped up. I didn't get a good look at it."

Giles met Buffy's gaze with a pang of regret, realizing that he had overlooked an important aspect of her abilities in his haste to uncover the truth. "I'm sorry," he apologized sincerely, his voice tinged with remorse. "Despite knowing you are no longer human, it's easy to forget."

"All is forgiven, Giles," Buffy reassured him, her tone softening as she reached out to offer him a reassuring smile.

Giles returned her smile with gratitude, his features softening with relief at Buffy's understanding. "Thank you, Buffy," he said sincerely, his voice filled with appreciation for her forgiveness. "I think our next recourse is to discover what was stolen from that mausoleum last night," he proposed, his mind already racing with plans and strategies to uncover the truth behind the mysterious theft.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

Career Fair was in full swing, bustling with activity as Sunnydale students eagerly explored the booths that had been set up in the school lounge. Each booth was staffed by representatives from various professions, all of whom were ready to offer guidance, share insights, and inspire the next generation of workers.

Dawn drifted anxiously through the crowds, her eyes darting from one booth to the next—physician, postal worker, policewoman—but she still couldn't find where she belonged amidst the array of choices.

"What are you doing here?" Xander teased, appearing alongside Willow as they approached Dawn. "Fly! Be free, little bird—you defy category!"

"I'm looking for Buffy," Dawn explained, her voice tinged with concern as she scanned the bustling room.

"She left with Giles an hour ago. Some kind of 'field trip' deal," Xander informed her with a shrug.

Willow let out a sigh of frustration. "If she doesn't get back soon, Snyder's really—" Her words trailed off as she suddenly brightened, her enthusiasm returning in full force. "Done a fantastic job setting up the fair this year, hasn't he, Xander? Dawn?"

Dawn and Xander turned to find Principal Snyder standing right beside them, his presence looming over them with an air of authority.

"Where is she?" Snyder demanded, his tone brusque and impatient as he directed his question at Dawn.

Dawn met Snyder's gaze with feigned innocence, her expression carefully neutral as she replied, "Who?"

"You know who," Snyder retorted sharply, his frustration evident in his tone.

Dawn hesitated for a moment, weighing her response carefully. "Oh... you mean Buffy? I just saw her—" she began, only to be cut off by Snyder's dismissive interruption.

"And don't feed me that 'I-just-saw-her-a-minute-ago-she's-around-here-somewhere' story," the principal snapped, his impatience boiling over.

Dawn's glare hardened as she locked eyes with the principal, her voice dripping with defiance. "And I don't like your tone, Principal Snyder," she shot back, refusing to be intimidated by his authoritarian demeanor.

The principal gave Dawn a curious look, his gaze lingering on her for a moment as if trying to decipher her motives. She had been the one to force him into giving everyone extra credit for Halloween and time away from school to shop for costumes. He hated her even more than he hated her sister. "Fascinating," he mumbled under his breath, his disdain evident in the tight set of his jaw, before he turned and moved off, his attention shifting to another group of students.

"I'd love to stay and chat," Xander began, turning his attention back to Dawn and Willow, "but I have an appointment with the warden on standard riot procedure."

"Xander," Dawn called out before he could walk away, her voice tinged with urgency.

He paused, turning back to face her, an inquisitive look crossing his features as he awaited her words.

"Look at the prison guard situation as drawing on your knowledge gained from Halloween when you were Kyle Reese," Dawn suggested, her tone hopeful as she offered him a new perspective on his assigned profession.

"You know, Dawn, you're right," Xander acknowledged with a nod of appreciation, a hint of determination in his voice as he hurried off to his appointment, his mind already racing with ideas.

"And I have an appointment with the law enforcement booth," Willow interjected, her voice chiming in from beside them. "Want to come?"

"Nah, thanks," Dawn replied with a small shake of her head. She gave a forlorn little wave as Willow disappeared into the crowd, her gaze lingering on her friend's retreating form before she suddenly jumped as someone came up behind her, her heart racing with apprehension.

"Dawn Summers?" a voice inquired, slicing through the ambient chatter of the lounge with a tone that carried both authority and a hint of mystery.

Startled, Dawn turned on her heel, her gaze meeting the solemn faces of two men flanking her, clad in indistinguishable dark suits that seemed to exude an aura of power rather than menace. Willow, sensing an unfamiliar tension in the air, instinctively recoiled, her features contorted with a mix of concern and apprehension.

"Come with us, please?" one of the men requested, his words carrying a weight that brooked no argument.

Dawn's eyes widened in disbelief, her mind struggling to grasp the sudden turn of events. "Excuse me?" she managed to utter, her voice tinged with a blend of confusion and disbelief.

Without further explanation, the man gestured for them to move, his demeanor conveying a sense of urgency that left Dawn with little choice but to comply. Reluctantly, she allowed herself to be guided past the maze of booths, her steps faltering slightly as they approached a velvet cordon, marking the entrance to a secluded section of the lounge.

As they ascended into the elevated area, concealed behind a veil of dark curtains, Dawn couldn't shake the sensation of stepping into an alternate reality, akin to Alice tumbling down the rabbit hole into the unknown. The space, transformed into a lavish deco salon, bathed in the soft glow of ambient lighting that cast a surreal ambiance over the scene. A gentle bossa nova melody floated from concealed speakers, adding to the enigmatic allure of the surroundings.

Her gaze fell upon a familiar logo adorning one of the walls, its resemblance to that of a prominent computer industry giant not lost on her.

A white-gloved waiter glided gracefully toward Dawn, his movements elegant and precise as he presented a gleaming silver tray adorned with an array of delicate hors d'oeuvres, each meticulously arranged to tantalize the senses.

"Try the canapé," urged one of Dawn's escorts, his voice carrying a hint of assurance amidst the whirlwind of emotions swirling within her. "It's excellent."

However, Dawn found herself too overwhelmed by the unexpected turn of events to indulge in the culinary delights before her. "What is all this?" she inquired, her voice tinged with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation.

In response, one of the men stepped forward, his demeanor exuding a sense of authority tempered with a touch of reassurance. "You've been selected to meet with Mr. McCarthy, head recruiter for the world's leading software concern," he explained, his words carrying a weight that hinted at the gravity of the situation. "The jet was delayed by fog at Sea-Tac, but he should be here any minute." Pausing for a moment, he added with a polite nod, "Please. Make yourself comfortable."

As the men turned to depart, Dawn's apprehension compelled her to halt their retreat. "But I didn't even get my test back," she interjected, her tone tinged with a hint of confusion and disbelief.

"The test was irrelevant," the first man replied calmly, his gaze unwavering. "We've been tracking you for some time."

"Is that a good thing?" Dawn's voice quivered with nervous uncertainty, her mind racing with a flurry of questions. Did they somehow know about her extraordinary ability to phase through solid matter? Could that be the reason for their keen interest in her?

"I would think so. We're extremely selective. In fact, only one other Sunnydale student met our criteria," one of the men responded with a measured tone, his words laden with a sense of gravity that only served to deepen Dawn's unease.

Before she could voice any further inquiries, both men made their exit through the partition, leaving Dawn standing there in stunned silence, her heart pounding in her chest as she watched them disappear from sight. Slowly, she turned to survey her surroundings, her eyes widening in realization that she was not alone in this surreal enclave.

Another student lounged casually on the couch, seemingly unperturbed by the strange atmosphere permeating the room. Willow recognized him instantly by his distinctive features—thick reddish hair, baggy attire, and an aura of serene nonchalance. Memories of their brief encounter on Halloween flooded Willow's mind, yet she hesitated, reminding herself that she had been clad in her ghost costume at the time—surely, he wouldn't recall their encounter.

To her surprise, however, recognition dawned in Oz's eyes as he glanced up from his plate of food, a subtle yet unmistakable flicker of delight dancing across his features. Despite the tension thickening the air between them, a sense of camaraderie seemed to bridge the gap as Dawn tentatively took a seat beside him.

A heavy silence enveloped them, each lost in their own thoughts, until it was Oz who broke the tension, extending the plate of canapés towards Dawn with a gesture of casual hospitality. "Canapé?" he offered softly.

Restfield Cemetery

"Giles, I know that I'm a Terminator," Buffy began, her voice tinged with uncertainty as they walked through the dimly lit cemetery. "Do you think that I have what it takes to be a cop?"

Giles glanced at Buffy; his expression thoughtful as he considered her question. "Being a police officer requires a range of skills beyond mere physical prowess," he replied, his tone measured as he offered his insight. "While your abilities as a Slayer and a Terminator certainly give you a unique advantage, it's also important to possess qualities such as empathy, patience, and a strong sense of justice."

Buffy nodded, absorbing Giles' words as she pondered her own capabilities. "I've always tried to do what's right and protect those who can't protect themselves," she reflected, a note of determination creeping into her voice. "But sometimes I wonder if it's enough."

Giles placed a reassuring hand on Buffy's shoulder, his gaze meeting hers with warmth and encouragement. "You have faced countless challenges and emerged victorious time and time again," he reminded her, his voice filled with confidence. "I have no doubt that whatever path you choose, you will excel in it."

Buffy smiled gratefully at Giles, a renewed sense of purpose igniting within her.

It was then that they reached the mausoleum, the imposing structure looming before them in the dim light of the cemetery. "This is the place," Buffy declared, her voice firm as she grasped the heavy iron door and pulled it open, the hinges creaking ominously as they entered, with Giles following closely behind.

Giles flicked on a flashlight, the beam cutting through the darkness as it illuminated the gloomy interior of the mausoleum. After a moment of searching, Buffy led him over to the vault set into the far wall, its door still standing open. Giles directed the light into the empty vault, his brows furrowing in thought as he pieced together the significance of their discovery. "It's a reliquary," he explained, his tone grave. "Used to house items of religious significance. Most commonly, a finger or some other body part from a saint."

/Why would anyone do such a thing?

Buffy glanced at the words scrolling across her vision, a puzzled expression crossing her features. "No idea, Cameron," she replied quietly, her thoughts racing as she considered the implications of their find. Turning to Giles, she relayed Cameron's inquiry. "Cameron was asking why anyone would house just a finger."

"More than likely," Giles confirmed, his voice tinged with certainty. "As I said, it was of religious significance." He turned back around, his gaze scanning the walls of the mausoleum with renewed intensity. As the flashlight's beam swept across the granite surface, they noticed something they hadn't seen before—bold letters carved into the stone above the doorway. "Du Lac..." Giles read aloud, his tone heavy with concern. "Oh dear..."

"I hate when you say that," Buffy replied flatly, her frustration evident in her tone.

/That name is coming up in your counterpart's memory files.

Buffy nodded as Cameron's words scrolled across her vision, her curiosity piqued by the mention of her counterpart's memory files. Before she could inquire further, Giles interjected with his own explanation. "Josephus du Lac is buried here," he began, his voice tinged with gravity. "He belonged to a sect of priests who were excommunicated by the Vatican at the turn of the century."

Buffy raised an eyebrow at Giles' revelation. "Ex-communication and sent to Sunnydale. Must have been big with the sinning," she remarked dryly, a hint of sarcasm coloring her words.

"Remember the book that was stolen from the library by a vampire a few weeks back?" Giles continued; his tone urgent as he pressed on with his explanation. "It was written by du Lac and his cohorts—" He broke off abruptly, frustration evident in his voice as he realized his oversight. "Damn it. In all the excitement, I let it slip my mind."

/What is in the book?

Buffy watched as Cameron's question scrolled across her vision, her mind racing with possibilities. She quickly relayed the question to Giles, eager for more information.

"The book is said to contain rituals and spells that reap unspeakable evil," Giles explained solemnly, his expression grave. "However, it was written in archaic Latin, so nobody but the sect members could read it."

Together, they walked outside, welcomed by the warmth of the sun and the invigorating freshness of the air after the oppressive dankness of the tomb.

Giles appeared even more pensive than usual as they stepped into the daylight. "I don't like it, Buffy. First the book is taken from the library. Now vampires steal something from du Lac's tomb—" he began, his voice heavy with concern, only to trail off as Buffy's form shifted, morphing into the androgynous silver humanoid before finally taking on the appearance of Cameron.

"You think they've figured out how to read the book?" Cameron asked, her features mirroring Giles' unease as she considered the implications of their discoveries.

"I don't know," Giles admitted with a troubled shake of his head, his eyes reflecting the weight of his worries. "But something's coming. And I guarantee, whatever it is—it's not good."

Sunnydale Airport

At the airport, a massive 767 aircraft had just completed its descent for landing, its powerful jet engines roaring as they gradually powered down. With a hiss, the hatch to the cargo hold opened, allowing a burst of sunlight to flood the dim interior. A baggage handler, clad in the fluorescent vest of his trade, climbed inside, the heavy thud of his boots echoing against the metal floor.

Lost in his own world, the handler wore a Walkman, the strains of heavy metal music blaring loudly into his ears as he worked. He paused for a moment, squinting against the sudden brightness, his gaze scanning the dark recesses of the cargo hold.

Strange...

A flicker of uncertainty crossed his features as he thought he saw a fleeting silhouette amidst the maze of crates and cargo netting. Was it just a trick of the light, or something more ominous lurking in the shadows?

Shrugging off his unease, the handler dismissed the notion, chalking it up to his imagination. "Probably only shadows," he muttered to himself, shaking his head as if to clear it.

With a sense of purpose, he returned his attention to his task, efficiently unloading the luggage from the aircraft and transferring it onto the conveyor belt. Pausing momentarily, he indulged in a brief air guitar solo, the imaginary crowd's applause ringing in his ears as he reveled in his moment of make-believe glory.

And then he thought he saw it again.

A fleeting movement behind the cargo netting, just at the edge of his vision, sent a shiver down his spine. "What the hell—" he muttered, swiftly reaching to silence the heavy metal music blaring in his ears. With determined steps, he moved toward the shadows, his heart pounding in his chest. "Hey!" he called out bravely, his voice echoing in the cavernous cargo hold. "You're not supposed to be in here."

No answer came, only the eerie silence of the empty space. He hesitated, his courage wavering as uncertainty crept into his mind.

"Come on—" he began, but before he could finish his sentence, the blows rained down upon him with brutal force. Shocked and defenseless, he staggered backward, the impact rocking him to his core. With a guttural groan of pain, he collapsed in a heap on the cold metal floor, his body wracked with agony.

From some distant spot through his pain, he thought he heard the echo of footsteps. Faint and distant, they seemed to draw closer, echoing through the cavernous space. Struggling to focus through the haze of agony, he thought he saw a shadow fall across him, then step over...

Slowly, he lifted his eyes, his gaze drawn toward the figure standing in the doorway, silhouetted against the dim light filtering in from outside. She was a striking presence—a young woman, tall and slender, with an air of exotic mystery about her. Her mocha-colored skin glowed softly in the dimness, accentuated by the tight-fitting clothes that hugged her lithe frame. With finely sculpted cheekbones and a high, wide forehead, she possessed an otherworldly beauty that held him spellbound.

But it was her eyes that sent a shiver down his spine. Large and black, with a curious almond shape, they seemed to pierce through him with their feline-like intensity. Try as he might, he couldn't tear his gaze away from their relentless scrutiny.

The eyes of a hunter. The eyes of a predator.

To his relief, she suddenly turned, her movements graceful and fluid as she leaped down onto the tarmac below. With a sense of dread lingering in the air, he watched her vanish into the darkness beyond, a silent specter disappearing into the night.

Her name was Kendra.

And there was much she had to do.

Sunnydale High School

School had long been dismissed, the corridors now empty and the classrooms silent. Hours had passed since Buffy and Giles returned from their ominous excursion to the cemetery. Immediately upon their arrival, they summoned Dawn, Xander, and Willow to an emergency meeting, gathering them in the familiar confines of the library.

The group had been huddled together ever since; their voices low as they delved into the mysteries surrounding the du Lac tomb.

"So, Giles is sure that the vampire who stole his book is connected to the one you slayed last night?" Dawn inquired, her brow furrowing in confusion. "Or is it 'slew'?" she added, a hint of uncertainty in her tone.

"Both are correct," Giles replied absentmindedly, his mind preoccupied as he paced restlessly among the bookshelves. Finally, he emerged from the stacks clutching a yellowed periodical in his hands.

"And yes, I'm sure," Giles affirmed, setting the magazine down before them. Upon closer inspection, they realized it was an old issue of National Geographic, dating back to 1921. "Du Lac was both a theologian and a mathematician," Giles explained, his voice tinged with scholarly reverence. "This article described an invention of his, which he called the du Lac Cross—"

"Why go to all the trouble of inventing something and then give it a weak name like that?" Xander interjected, his tone laced with a touch of irreverent humor. "I'd have gone with 'Cross-o-matic!' or 'The Amazing Mr. Cross!'" he quipped, only to be met with puzzled stares from his companions.

Ignoring Xander's antics, Giles proceeded to open the magazine, revealing a discolored photograph of the enigmatic cross. As Willow and Dawn began to pore over the accompanying article, Giles continued his explanation. "The cross was more than a mere symbol," he elucidated. "It was also utilized to unlock the secrets of certain mystical texts, deciphering hidden meanings and unraveling arcane mysteries."

Buffy looked up at Giles, her expression a mixture of disbelief and incredulity. "You're saying these vampires went to all that trouble for your basic decoder ring?" she questioned, her tone heavy with skepticism.

Giles regarded her blankly for a moment, seemingly taken aback by her blunt assessment. After a pause, he nodded slowly. "Actually, I guess I am," he admitted with a rueful chuckle, realizing the simplicity of the situation.

Meanwhile, Willow remained engrossed in the article, her brow furrowed in concentration. "According to this," she interjected, her voice focused, "du Lac destroyed every one of the crosses, except the one buried with him."

As Buffy's form shifted once again, transforming into the silver androgynous humanoid before taking on the appearance of Cameron, she voiced her curiosity. "Why destroy his own work?" she inquired, her eyes reflecting the same perplexity shared by her companions.

"I suppose he feared what might happen if the cross fell into the wrong hands," Giles responded solemnly, his expression reflecting the weight of the situation.

Xander, ever the realist, interjected with a sobering reminder. "A fear we'll soon get to experience for ourselves, up close and personal," he stated, his words serving as a stark reminder.

"Unless," Giles murmured, his voice weighted with determination, "we preempt their plans."

Leaning forward onto the table, Willow's eyes sparked with curiosity. "How?" she pressed, her eagerness palpable.

"By learning what was in the book before they do," Giles explained, his tone resolute as he met their gazes with grim purpose. "Which means we can expect to be here late tonight—"

Dawn's face lit up with enthusiasm, her excitement palpable. "Goody! A research party!" she exclaimed, her enthusiasm undimmed by the gravity of their situation.

"Dawnster," Xander chided gently, his tone laced with affection, "you need a life in the worst way—"

Dawn met Xander's gaze squarely, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Hey, before I became able to phase through solid objects," she began, her voice taking on a reflective tone as Cameron's form shifted back into Buffy's, "I used to do this to make sure Buffy came home. Nothing is more important."

"Speaking of," Buffy interjected, her voice cutting through the conversation, "I have to bail. I promise I'll be back bright and early, perky and ready to slay."

The look Giles gave her was one of perplexity. "This is a matter of some urgency, Buffy," he insisted, concern etched in the furrow of his brow.

"Angel is doing a farewell thing tonight. He's decided he's leaving Sunnydale after my birthday in January," Buffy explained, her gaze meeting Giles's with unwavering determination. "Dawn knows where I'll be, so if you find something before then, she will call and I will come right back."

Giles considered Buffy's words for a moment, his expression softening with understanding. "Very well," he conceded reluctantly, realizing the importance of Buffy's personal commitments.

With a quick nod of gratitude, Buffy turned on her heel and hurried out of the room, her mind already racing ahead to the evening's events.

Skating Rink

The ice-skating rink looked like a scene from a fairy tale tonight, bathed in the ethereal glow of moonlight filtering in through the high windows. Buffy found herself enveloped in a world of solitude, the only sound being the soft swish of her skates carving elegant arcs on the smooth ice. With each breath of the crisp, cool air, she felt a sense of liberation wash over her, a moment of respite from the chaos of her everyday life.

As she glided effortlessly across the ice, Buffy felt a sense of serenity wash over her. Her movements were fluid and graceful, every twist and turn a testament to her skill and determination. Her hair danced around her face in the gentle breeze she created with each swift movement.

/You enjoy this, Buffy?

Cameron's message flashed before her vision, momentarily pulling her back to reality. "I do, Cam," she replied, her voice carrying a hint of contentment as she allowed herself to be consumed once more by the tranquility of the moment. Unbeknownst to her, her sensors had detected another presence in the rink, but Buffy remained blissfully unaware as she continued to lose herself in the rhythm of her skating.

Octarus observed her from the shadows, a malevolent grin playing on his lips as he watched her elegant maneuvers with sinister intent. With each graceful pirouette and daring leap, Buffy seemed to dance closer to his trap, oblivious to the danger lurking just beneath the surface.

Buffy's confidence grew with each passing moment, emboldening her to push herself further, to skate faster, to reach new heights of exhilaration. But as she soared through the air, a shadow crossed her path, disrupting the tranquility of the night. Startled, she scanned her surroundings, her heart racing as she called out, "Angel?"

Suddenly, a pair of massive hands seized her neck, shattering the illusion of safety. Octarus loomed over her, his malicious intent clear as he attempted to snatch her away from the ice. Yet, to his surprise, Buffy resisted, her petite frame proving unexpectedly resilient against his grasp.

With a surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins, Buffy reacted instinctively. Gripping Octarus's wrists with a strength that seemed almost otherworldly. In a breathtaking display of power, she pried his hands from her neck, her determination fueling her every movement.

Before Buffy could launch a counterattack, the sound of Angel's arrival echoed through the rink, a beacon of hope in the midst of chaos. With a thunderous impact, Angel's fist collided with Octarus, the force of the blow sending shockwaves reverberating through the air. Yet, even as Octarus staggered from the force of the blow, his resolve remained unbroken.

In a swift retaliation, Octarus unleashed a devastating blow, his fist connecting with Angel's form with the force of a freight train. The impact sent the vampire hurtling across the icy surface, his body skidding to a stop amidst a spray of frost and shards of ice.

But Angel was not one to stay down for long. With a fierce determination burning in his eyes, he rose to his feet, his resolve unyielding even in the face of overwhelming odds. Trapped in the confines of an alcove, he braced himself for the onslaught, a defiant roar tearing through the frigid air as he prepared to meet his adversary head-on.

With a swift and fluid motion, Buffy sprang into action, her movements fueled by a potent mix of agility and determination. Leaping over a wooden bench with the grace of a seasoned acrobat, she landed soundlessly behind Octarus, her every motion calculated and precise. As he turned to face her, his eyes widening in surprise, Buffy propelled herself into the air with a spinning wheel kick, the gleaming blade of her ice skate leading the charge.

In a heartbeat, she witnessed the glint of silver as her blade sliced through the air, a testament to her unparalleled skill and precision. The sickening sound of flesh tearing echoed through the rink, a grim reminder of the violence that permeated their world. Even Angel, seasoned warrior though he was, couldn't suppress a grimace as Octarus clutched at his gaping wound, his expression a mixture of shock and betrayal.

But Octarus, fueled by a relentless determination, refused to yield. With a menacing glare, he lurched forward, his movements labored and unsteady, yet brimming with a stubborn resolve. Buffy, ever the tactician, swiftly sidestepped his advance, allowing him to stagger past her onto the unforgiving expanse of ice.

In that moment, Octarus appeared somehow diminished, his once imposing figure now reduced to a pitiful shadow of its former self. Buffy observed in solemn silence, her senses heightened as she felt Angel's reassuring presence at her back, his silent support a comforting anchor in the midst of chaos.

And then, with a final, defiant gesture, Octarus collapsed, his massive frame crumpling beneath the weight of his own demise. Without a word, he sank to his knees and fell face-first onto the cold, unforgiving surface of the ice.

Angel knelt beside the fallen behemoth; his movements cautious as he assessed the situation with a sense of grave concern. The weight of the moment hung heavily in the air, punctuated only by the sound of Buffy's footsteps as she approached from behind. Her quip, though laced with humor, failed to elicit even the faintest hint of a smile from Angel, his focus consumed by the ominous implications of the scene before him.

"And the Hellmouth presents 'Dead Guys on Ice'," Buffy's words broke the tense silence, her attempt at levity a feeble attempt to lighten the mood. "Not exactly the evening we were aiming for."

But Angel's attention remained fixated on the ring adorning Octarus's finger, its significance weighing heavily on his mind. With a furrowed brow, he lifted the massive hand, his fingers tracing the intricate glyph-like patterns etched into the surface of the ring. "You're in danger," he uttered, his voice tight with apprehension.

Buffy's response was swift, her confidence unwavering as she dismissed his warning with a hint of defiance. "How can I be in danger, Angel? I'm a Terminator, remember?" she retorted, her tone laced with a touch of sarcasm.

"I remember," Angel replied solemnly, his gaze never leaving the ominous symbol etched into the metal. "But you are in danger. You know what the ring means?"

Buffy paused, her expression shifting as she considered the gravity of Angel's words. "I just killed a Superbowl champ?" she quipped once more, her attempt to lighten the mood falling flat in the face of Angel's evident concern.

"I'm serious," Angel insisted, his voice grave as he urged Buffy to heed his warning. "You should go home and wait until you hear from me."

As he released Octarus's hand, allowing it to fall limply back onto the icy surface, Angel turned to face Buffy, his eyes searching hers for any sign of hesitation or doubt. "Are you okay?" he asked, his concern for her well-being evident in his every word and gesture.

"I'm a machine, remember. All my systems are running at one percent. What about you?" Buffy countered; her voice tinged with a hint of defiance as she brushed off Angel's concern for her well-being. "That cut—"

"Forget about me," Angel interjected firmly, his tone brooking no argument. "This is bad, Buffy," he continued, his expression grave as he emphasized the gravity of their situation. "We have to get you someplace safe."

A flicker of alarm danced across Buffy's features as she processed Angel's words. "You mean—hide?" she questioned; her voice tinged with uncertainty.

"Let's just get you out of here," Angel insisted, his urgency palpable as he moved to take action. But before he could make a move, Buffy halted him with a gentle touch, her gaze lingering on the gash marring his brow.

"Wait. Your eye is all… Let me—" Buffy reached out instinctively, her fingers poised to wipe away the blood staining his skin.

Angel instinctively recoiled, a mix of emotions flickering across his features as he lowered his head. "Come on," Buffy chided softly, her tone gentle yet firm. "Don't be a baby. I won't hurt you."

Despite her reassurances, Angel remained hesitant, his reluctance to accept comfort evident in his every movement. "It's not that," he mumbled, his voice barely audible above the faint whisper of the wind. "I—you shouldn't have to touch me when I'm like this."

/He doesn't want you to touch him when he's in what you termed, gameface?

Buffy felt a pang in her chest as Cameron's words scrolled across her vision. Her gaze lingered on Angel, her mind racing with a torrent of conflicting emotions—love, compassion, and a deep-seated longing to bridge the divide between them. Slowly, deliberately, she peeled off her gloves, her movements deliberate as she closed the distance between them.

As her bare hands made contact with his vampire features, Angel's reaction was immediate. Humiliation flashed across his face, his instinctive urge to recoil warring with an inexplicable sense of vulnerability. Despite his inner turmoil, he found himself unable to withdraw, ensnared by the tender touch of Buffy's fingertips.

With a gentle yet determined touch, Buffy turned his face to meet hers, her eyes mirroring a depth of understanding that transcended words. Softly, she traced the contours of his monstrous features, her touch a soothing balm to his wounded soul. "I didn't even notice," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

In that moment, a profound connection passed between them, unspoken yet tangible—a silent acknowledgment of the burdens they both carried, and the unyielding strength of their bond. Drawing him closer, Buffy closed the gap between them, her lips meeting his in a kiss suffused with tenderness and understanding. It was a kiss of empathy, a silent reassurance that he need not fear judgment or rejection, even in his most vulnerable state.

Unbeknownst to them, Kendra watched from the shadows, her gaze keen as she observed the intimate exchange unfolding before her. In the depths of her mind, she formulated her plans.

November 19, 1997 – Wednesday

Sunnydale High

The next morning dawned with a sense of urgency as Buffy wasted no time in seeking out Giles, the trusted anchor of their ragtag group. With the ring clutched tightly in her hand, she made her way to his study, her steps purposeful and resolute.

Upon entering the room, Buffy found Giles immersed in his research, his brow furrowed in concentration as he pored over ancient tomes and arcane texts. Dawn, Xander, and Willow were gathered around the table, their expressions a mix of curiosity and apprehension as they awaited Buffy's arrival.

"This guy was hard core, Giles," Buffy began, her voice carrying a weight of concern as she relayed the events of the previous night. "And Angel was power-freaked by the ring."

Giles's response was measured, his expression grave as he absorbed her words. "I'm afraid he was not overreacting," he replied solemnly, his gaze shifting to the ring clutched in Buffy's hand. "The ring is worn only by members of the Order of Taraka. They are a society of demon assassins dating back to King Solomon—"

"And didn't they beat the Elks last year in the Sunnydale Adult Bowling League Championship?" Xander interjected earnestly, his attempt at levity falling flat in the midst of the grim revelation.

Ignoring Xander's remark, Giles pressed on, his tone clipped and authoritative. "Their credo is to sow discord and kill the unwary."

"Bowling is a vicious game—" Xander started again, only to be cut off by Giles's sharp retort.

"That's enough, Xander!" Giles snapped; his patience worn thin by the boy's persistent antics.

Buffy, Dawn, Willow, and Xander exchanged concerned glances as Giles's uncharacteristic sternness hung heavy in the air. It was a rare occurrence for their usually composed mentor to adopt such a tone, and its gravity left them with a sense of unease that prickled at the edges of their consciousness. When Giles spoke with such severity, they knew instinctively that the situation was dire, and they braced themselves for the weight of his words.

"I'm sorry," Giles relented, his voice softening slightly under the weight of their collective scrutiny, "but this is not a time for jokes. I need to think."

Buffy's brow furrowed with concern as she sought clarification from their resident expert. "These assassins," she pressed, her voice tinged with urgency, "why would they be after me?"

A moment of tense silence followed as Giles considered her question, his mind racing through the annals of demonic lore in search of answers. Before he could formulate a response, Willow's voice piped up, her attempt at levity falling somewhat flat in the somber atmosphere.

"Because you're the scourge of the underworld?" she offered tentatively, a faint glimmer of humor flickering in her eyes.

Buffy couldn't help but grimace at Willow's attempt to lighten the mood, her expression a mixture of amusement and exasperation. "Yeah, but I haven't been that scourgy lately," she quipped in response

"I don't know," Giles admitted, his voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty. "But I think the best thing to do is to find a secure location. Someplace out of the way where you can go until we decide on the best course of action—"

Dawn's voice pierced the heavy silence, her words fraught with fear and confusion. "Okay, why would Buffy need to run? She's a Terminator. They can't kill her. What's the deal?"

Giles faltered; his composure momentarily shaken by Dawn's outburst. "I—this is an extraordinary circumstance," he stammered, struggling to find the right words to assuage her mounting apprehension.

"You're saying Buffy can't handle this?" Dawn's voice trembled with raw emotion, her eyes wide with fear. "You're saying they will find a way to deactivate my sister?"

Giles's expression darkened as he attempted to explain the gravity of their predicament. "They're...," he began, his voice heavy with a sense of foreboding. "They're a breed apart, Dawn. Unlike vampires, they have no earthly desire except to collect their bounty. To find their target and eliminate it. If they learn Buffy is not human, they could very well find a way to dismantle her."

Turning to face Buffy, Giles's eyes bore into hers, his gaze filled with a mixture of concern and solemn resolve. "You can kill as many of them as you like," he continued, his voice grave. "It won't make any difference, because where there is one, there will be another. And another. They won't stop coming until the job is done."

A heavy silence descended upon the room as Giles's words hung in the air, each syllable laden with the weight of their grim reality. "The worst of it is, they are masters of deceit," he concluded quietly, his tone laced with a sense of resignation. "Vampires are bound by the night, but these predators can be anywhere, anytime. They can appear as normal as the next person. Just another face in the crowd. You might not ever know when one of them is near," he finished, his voice barely above a whisper. "Not until the moment of your death."

Buffy's response was swift and unexpected as her form rippled and shifted, morphing into the silver androgynous humanoid before finally settling into the appearance of Cameron. "You're freaking Buffy out," Cameron remarked, her tone cool and detached despite the underlying tension that permeated the room.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

Cameron moved through the bustling halls of the school; her senses acutely attuned to the swirling sea of humanity that surrounded her. Every step she took, every person she passed, seemed to blur together in a dizzying kaleidoscope of faces and voices. Despite the outward appearance of normalcy, she couldn't shake the underlying sense of unease that gnawed at the edges of her consciousness.

/They can appear as normal as the next person… just another face in the crowd.

Buffy's words echoed in Cameron's mind, a sobering reminder of the dangers that lurked beneath the veneer of everyday life. She watched as the words scrolled across her vision, each syllable a stark testament to the harsh realities they faced.

"Buffy?" Cameron murmured softly; her concern evident in the gentle tone of her voice.

/These are people I know; I see them practically every day, all of them are innocent. But are they really?

Again, Buffy's words danced before Cameron's eyes, prompting a flicker of apprehension to ripple through her consciousness. The faces of Buffy's classmates, once familiar and benign, now seemed to hold a shadow of suspicion, their true intentions veiled behind masks of normalcy.

"Buffy," Cameron repeated, her voice tinged with urgency as she sought to break through the fog of uncertainty that clouded her companion's thoughts.

/I'm scared, Cameron. I know we can't self-terminate and for that I am thankful. But I'm scared that these assassins might find a way to terminate us.

Cameron sighed inwardly, her artificial heart heavy with empathy for Buffy's plight. She understood all too well the weight of fear and uncertainty that burdened her companion, the constant struggle to navigate a world fraught with peril and deception.

Dawn's voice cut through the tension like a lifeline, drawing Cameron's attention away from the swirling maelstrom of worry and fear that threatened to engulf them both. Turning to face the young woman, Cameron noted the anxious furrow of her brow, the silent plea for reassurance reflected in her eyes.

"Cameron?" Dawn's voice trembled slightly as she approached, her concern for her sister palpable in every word. "How is Buffy?"

Cameron's response was measured yet filled with empathy, her artificial voice carrying a note of solemnity as she addressed Dawn's concerns. "She's scared, Dawn," she replied, her tone tinged with a hint of sadness. "She is worried these assassins will find out we are not human and try and terminate us."

Dawn's nod was hesitant, a silent acknowledgment of the harsh reality they now faced. "I'm scared too," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "Can we get out of here? Go someplace..." Her words trailed off, her unspoken plea hanging heavy in the air.

Understanding dawned in Cameron's eyes as she registered the depth of Dawn's fear, her own resolve strengthened by the desire to protect her surrogate family at all costs. "Of course, Dawn," she replied gently, her tone infused with a sense of determination. "I have been working on a taste synthesizer for my sensors. Why don't we go get some ice cream?"

The suggestion hung in the air like a beacon of hope, a brief respite from the shadows that threatened to engulf them. With a tentative smile, Dawn nodded in agreement, her fears momentarily pushed aside by the promise of a simple moment of joy amidst the chaos that surrounded them.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

"I wish there was more we could do," Willow sighed, her voice heavy with exhaustion and frustration. She cast a weary gaze across the table, where countless volumes of books lay strewn haphazardly, a testament to the hours of relentless searching she and Giles had devoted to their quest. Yet despite their tireless efforts, the answers remained elusive, slipping through their fingers like grains of sand.

Giles looked up from his own stack of books, his expression mirroring Willow's fatigue and concern. "We're doing all we can," he reassured her, his voice steady despite the weight of their predicament. "The only course of action is to decipher the contents of the stolen book."

As if on cue, Xander's voice broke the heavy silence, his somber tone cutting through the palpable sense of defeat that hung in the air. Willow and Giles turned to face him as he entered the library, his expression grim with foreboding.

"They didn't go home," Xander announced, his words laden with a sense of urgency. Willow's heart sank at the implication, a cold knot of dread forming in the pit of her stomach. "I let the phone ring a few hundred times before I remembered their mom's out of town."

A flicker of hope ignited within Giles, his mind racing to find a rational explanation for Buffy and Dawn's absence. "Maybe Buffy or Dawn unplugged the phone," he suggested, grasping at straws in an attempt to quell the rising tide of anxiety.

"It's a statistical impossibility for a sixteen- or a fourteen-year-old girl to unplug a telephone," Xander asserted, his tone laced with frustration and concern. He exchanged a meaningful glance with Giles, silently imploring Willow to corroborate his assertion.

Willow met their gazes with a solemn nod, her expression mirroring their shared sense of unease. The weight of their collective worry hung heavy in the air, a palpable reminder of the looming threat that now overshadowed their every thought and action.

Giles, his mind racing with the possibilities, began to pace the length of the library, his movements agitated and restless. "Perhaps my words of caution were a bit too alarming—"

"You think?" Xander interjected sharply, his frustration bubbling to the surface as he confronted Giles's understatement head-on. Sensing the tension escalating, Willow hastened to intervene, her voice calm and measured as she attempted to restore a semblance of harmony to their increasingly fraught conversation.

"I could have told you that when Cameron didn't return control to Buffy like she usually would," Willow interjected, her words a gentle reminder of the subtle cues they had overlooked in their haste to unravel the mystery of Buffy and Dawn's disappearance.

A heavy silence descended upon the library, broken only by the soft shuffle of Giles's footsteps and the strained tension that lingered between them. In the face of uncertainty, Willow's admission hung in the air like a beacon of vulnerability, a candid acknowledgment of the fear and uncertainty that gripped them all.

"I wish we knew where Buffy and Dawn were," Willow admitted softly, her voice tinged with a note of longing.

Streets of Sunnydale

Cameron had seamlessly transitioned back into Buffy's familiar form, a silent testament to her adaptability and unwavering dedication to protecting those she cared about. As she and Dawn strolled through the dimly lit streets, their footsteps echoing in the quiet night, a sense of weariness settled over them like a heavy shroud.

The hours had passed in a blur of uncertainty and tension, each step bringing them closer to the familiar comfort of home yet also deepening the lingering sense of unease that gnawed at the edges of their consciousness. Tired and cold, they trudged along the sidewalk, their breath forming misty clouds in the chill night air.

Finally, they reached their own street, the sight of their darkened house looming before them like a silent sentinel. The windows were devoid of light, casting long shadows that stretched across the pavement in eerie patterns.

"Buffy," Dawn's voice broke the stillness, her gaze fixed on the silent home before them. "Can we go someplace else? I just..."

Buffy's heart clenched with empathy as she met her sister's troubled gaze. She understood all too well the fear and uncertainty that lingered in the air, the unspoken tension that made their own home feel like a sanctuary no longer.

"I know," Buffy murmured, her voice soft with understanding. In that moment, she shared Dawn's unspoken desire for refuge, for a sense of safety that eluded them in the darkness of the night.

Without a word, they continued walking, their footsteps falling in sync as they moved forward together.

Angel's Apartment

Buffy and Dawn moved with a sense of purpose; their footsteps guided by an unseen force as they traversed the dimly lit streets of their neighborhood. Lost in their own thoughts, they walked in silence, their minds preoccupied with the weight of their worries and the uncertainty that hung in the air like a shroud.

It wasn't until they came to a sudden stop that they realized where their subconscious had led them. Before them loomed Angel's basement dwelling, a place steeped in memories both bitter and sweet. They stood there for a moment, their gazes fixed on the weathered door before them, uncertainty flickering in their eyes.

With a hesitant resolve, Buffy raised her hand and knocked, the sound echoing in the stillness of the night. "Angel?" she called out, her voice tinged with a note of desperation. But there was no answer, only the eerie silence of the abandoned dwelling.

Feeling a surge of determination, Buffy reached for the doorknob, her fingers curling around the cold metal. Yet, to her dismay, she found it locked, a barrier between them and the safety they sought. She glanced at Dawn, who nodded in silent agreement, her resolve unwavering in the face of adversity.

Without hesitation, Dawn stepped forward and passed through the door as if it were little more than a phantom barrier. The darkness enveloped her as she entered Angel's dwelling, the air heavy with the weight of memories long forgotten.

"Angel?" Dawn's voice rang out in the silence, her words echoing off the walls of the empty room. But once again, there was no response, only the oppressive stillness of the night.

With a determined click, Dawn unlocked the door from the inside, allowing Buffy to enter the dimly lit space. As they clicked on a lamp, the room was bathed in a soft glow, revealing its sparse yet comforting furnishings. A desk, a chair, a table, and a tall folding screen stood in silent testament to the life that had once thrived within these walls.

Exotic statues adorned glass cases, their intricate designs hinting at a past shrouded in mystery. Heavy curtains hung from the windows, shielding the room from prying eyes and offering a semblance of privacy in the midst of the chaos that surrounded them. In the corner, an unmade bed beckoned, its rumpled sheets a silent reminder of the occupant who had long since departed.

Dawn's steps were heavy with fatigue as she made her way to the bed, her body weighed down by the burden of exhaustion and fear that threatened to consume her. With a weary sigh, she sank onto the mattress, the softness offering a fleeting sense of comfort in the midst of their turmoil.

Her mind buzzed with a relentless whirlwind of worries and anxieties, each thought more overwhelming than the last. Her sister's safety, their uncertain future, the shadowy threat that loomed on the horizon—all of it weighed heavily on her young shoulders, a constant reminder of the dangers that lurked in the darkness.

As tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, Dawn fought to hold them back, refusing to succumb to the despair that threatened to engulf her. With a trembling breath, she curled up on Angel's bed, the fabric of his covers offering a fragile shield against the harsh realities of their world.

Lying there in the darkness, Dawn felt the weight of exhaustion settle over her like a heavy blanket, dragging her down into the depths of sleep. It was a fitful rest, haunted by dreams of shadowy figures and whispered threats, but it was a respite nonetheless—a brief reprieve from the relentless onslaught of fear and uncertainty.

Meanwhile, Buffy's mind raced with questions and doubts, her thoughts consumed by the relentless pursuit of answers in the face of overwhelming adversity. "Cameron, is there anything at all about these assassins in my counterpart's memory files?" she asked, her words echoing in the quiet room.

/I have been searching, Buffy. But sadly, I have yet to come up with anything or why vampires want the book they stole from Giles.

The Alibi Room

The Alibi Room exuded an air of desolation, its dilapidated facade a stark contrast to the vibrant energy that pulsated through the streets of Sunnydale. Nestled in the heart of the city's underbelly, it stood as a testament to the darker side of humanity, a haven for those seeking refuge from the harsh realities of the world outside.

Inside, the atmosphere was suffused with a dim, almost oppressive gloom, the low lights casting long shadows that danced across the worn floorboards. It was a deliberate choice, designed to conceal both the unsavory decor and the even more unsavory clientele that frequented its dingy confines.

Behind the bar, Willy held court, his shifty-eyed gaze darting suspiciously from one corner of the room to the other. He fancied himself a small-time hustler, a master of the underworld's intricate web of deceit and deception. But it was his connections to the vampire underworld that truly set him apart, a fact of which he was both proud and wary.

Tonight, as Willy went about his routine cleanup, a sense of unease gnawed at the edges of his consciousness. The hour was late, and he wasn't expecting any visitors. So, when a shadowy figure materialized in the doorway, his initial annoyance quickly gave way to a creeping sense of dread.

"We're closed," Willy snapped, his voice laced with thinly veiled irritation. "Can't you read the sign?"

But as the figure slowly made its way into the room, Willy's bravado faltered, replaced by a palpable sense of fear. Recognition dawned in his eyes as he realized the identity of his unexpected visitor, and his whole demeanor shifted in an instant.

"Oh," he stammered, his nervous laughter tinged with desperation. "Hey, Angel. I didn't recognize you in the dark there."

Angel didn't answer. He simply stood and stared.

Willy fidgeted behind the bar, his movements jerky and erratic as he sought to maintain a safe distance from the imposing figure before him. "What—what can I do for you tonight?" he stammered; his voice strained with a forced cheerfulness that rang hollow in the dimly lit room.

Angel's expression remained impassive as he cut straight to the chase, his voice a cool, collected counterpoint to Willy's nervous energy. "I need some information," he stated simply, his gaze unwavering as he pinned Willy with a penetrating stare.

"Yeah?" Willy's laughter was tinged with a note of desperation, his attempts at levity falling flat in the face of Angel's unwavering scrutiny. "Man. That's too bad. 'Cause I'm staying away from that whole scene. I'm living right, Angel."

Angel's response was delivered with a smoothness that bordered on eerie, his words carrying a weight of authority that brooked no argument. "Sure, you are, Willy. And I'm taking up sunbathing."

A nervous chuckle escaped Willy's lips, his facade of bravado crumbling under the weight of Angel's unwavering gaze. He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat growing with each passing moment as the realization dawned that he was no match for the vampire standing before him.

"Come on now," Willy pleaded, his voice cracking with fear. He struggled to maintain his composure, his hands trembling as he gestured awkwardly around the dimly lit bar. "Don't be that way. I treat you vamps good. I don't hassle you. You don't hassle me. We all enjoy the patronage of this establishment. Everybody's happy."

As Angel advanced with purposeful strides, a sense of dread gripped Willy, his heart pounding in his chest like a trapped bird. He could feel the weight of Angel's presence bearing down on him, a palpable force that seemed to suffocate the very air around them.

"Who sent them?" Angel's voice cut through the tense silence, his tone low and menacing, sending a shiver down Willy's spine.

Willy's nerves were stretched to their breaking point, his mind racing as he struggled to maintain his composure under the intense pressure. "Who sent who?" he feigned ignorance, his voice trembling with thinly veiled fear.

But before he could muster a coherent response, Angel moved with lightning speed, his hand closing around Willy's throat with a vice-like grip. The broom slipped from Willy's grasp, clattering to the floor in a cacophony of noise as he fought for breath, his eyes wide with panic.

"The Order of Taraka," Angel stated calmly, his gaze boring into Willy's soul with an intensity that made the bartender's blood run cold.

"I tell you," Willy gasped, his words choked off by Angel's iron grip, "I haven't been in the loop." Sweat beaded on his brow as he struggled to form a coherent sentence, the fear coursing through his veins like wildfire.

As Angel's grip tightened around his throat, Willy felt the icy fingers of terror grip his heart. Desperation clawed at him as he struggled to find words to appease the relentless vampire before him.

"Let's try again. The Order of Taraka. They're after the Slayer," Angel's voice cut through the air like a knife, his tone commanding and resolute.

"Come on, man..." Willy whimpered, his voice barely a whisper as he pleaded for mercy.

"Is it Spike?" Angel's inquiry was accompanied by a tightening of his grip, lifting Willy off the ground as if he were weightless.

Panic surged through Willy's veins as he frantically attempted to negotiate for his life. "Angel, hey... I-I got some fresh pig's blood in. Good stuff. My fence said the white cell count is—" His words dissolved into incoherent gurgles as Angel's grasp constricted his airway.

A cold chill washed over Willy as he realized the precariousness of his situation. Angel's intentions were clear, and he knew that he was teetering on the brink of oblivion, his life hanging in the balance.

"You know," Angel mused, a chilling edge to his voice, "I'm a little rusty when it comes to killing humans. It could take a while."

The gravity of Angel's words struck Willy like a thunderbolt, his mind racing with the horrifying realization that he was at the mercy of a remorseless predator. Fear gripped him in its icy embrace as he faced the grim prospect of meeting his end at the hands of the very creatures he had once sought to align himself with.

"Spike will draw and quarter me, man!" Willy's words spilled out in a frantic rush; his voice tinged with desperation as he clung to the faint hope of salvation.

As Angel felt the tension release from his body, he slowly lowered Willy back onto the ground, his grip loosening but his resolve unyielding. "I'll take care of Spike," he declared, his voice firm and unwavering.

Willy's facade of defiance crumbled in an instant, his words spilling forth in a frantic torrent of desperation. "You know he ordered those guys," he confessed, his voice tinged with fear. "Spike's sick of your girl getting in his way."

A pang of sadness flickered across Angel's features at Willy's words. "She's not my girl," he murmured softly, a hint of regret coloring his tone. "Not anymore. So where can I find him?"

Willy's eyes widened in alarm as he realized the gravity of the situation. "I tell you that, and I'm gonna need relocating expenses," he whined, his voice tinged with avarice. "It'll cost you—"

But before he could finish his sentence, Angel's patience snapped like a taut wire, his hand shooting out to slam Willy's head against the counter with brutal force. Glasses shattered, plates clattered to the ground, and the air filled with the sound of chaos as debris rained down around them.

Angel's grip tightened around Willy's neck, his voice a low, menacing growl. "It will cost who?" he demanded, his eyes flashing with an intensity that brooked no argument.

As Willy's words spilled out in a frantic rush, Angel's grip tightened around his neck, his focus solely on extracting the information he sought. But in his single-minded determination, he failed to notice the looming threat that lurked just beyond his peripheral vision.

With a sudden and unexpected blur of motion, a broom handle hurtled through the air with deadly accuracy, connecting with a sickening thud against Angel's temple. The force of the blow sent him reeling, his senses swimming as he crashed to the ground in a dazed heap, Willy tumbling down beside him.

Blinking away the haze of disorientation, Angel struggled to regain his bearings, his gaze rising to meet the chilling sight of a tall, exotic woman looming over him. Clad in an air of ominous authority, she wore a large medallion around her neck, her demeanor exuding a palpable aura of danger.

Her voice cut through the air like a knife, sharp and commanding, as she demanded answers with undisguised contempt. "Where is she?" Kendra's words rang out, her foreign accent lending an eerie edge to her tone.

Angel's head throbbed with pain as he struggled to focus, his vision swimming as he met Kendra's unwavering gaze. With a defiant shake of his head, he spat blood onto the floor, his refusal to yield to her demands a testament to his unyielding resolve.

But Kendra was undeterred, her steely gaze unwavering as she repeated her question with chilling determination. "The girl. Where is she?"

"Even if I knew, I wouldn't tell you," Angel declared, his words ringing out with a steely determination that brooked no argument.

Kendra's response was swift and brutal. With a swift, fluid motion, she snapped the broom handle over her knee, the sound of splintering wood echoing through the air like a gunshot. "Then die," she spat, her voice dripping with venomous intent.

Reacting on pure instinct, Angel rolled aside just in time to evade the deadly strike aimed at his heart. The makeshift stake sliced through the air with lethal precision, narrowly missing its mark as Angel sprang to his feet, adrenaline coursing through his veins.

But Kendra was relentless, her movements fluid and precise as she closed in on him with lightning speed. As Willy fled for safety, disappearing into the darkness of the exit, Angel and Kendra engaged in a brutal dance of combat, their blows reverberating through the cramped confines of the club.

Their struggle carried them through the main room, a chaotic whirlwind of violence and destruction in their wake. Glass shattered and debris flew as they crashed into the bar's storage area, the floor-to-ceiling metal cage providing a makeshift arena for their savage confrontation.

Locked in a deadly embrace, Angel and Kendra locked eyes, each sizing up the other with a mixture of wariness and determination. Angel's transformation into his vampire form only fueled his fury, his eyes ablaze with primal rage as he brandished a broken bottle as a makeshift weapon.

In the tense silence that followed, Angel's voice rumbled with a low, menacing growl. "Who are you?" he demanded; his words laced with a palpable sense of menace.

As Kendra cautiously retreated from the storage area, her every movement calculated and deliberate, Angel's gaze remained fixed on her, his senses alert for any sign of danger. Despite the tension that hung thick in the air, there was a chilling calmness to Kendra's demeanor that sent a shiver down Angel's spine.

"I won't hurt you," Angel assured her, his voice laced with a hint of desperation. "If you tell me what I need to know."

Unexpectedly, a smile played upon Kendra's lips, a gesture that sent a jolt of apprehension coursing through Angel's veins. His incredulity was palpable as he stared at her, his brow furrowed in disbelief.

"You think this is funny?" he demanded, his voice edged with frustration and confusion.

Kendra swung the heavy metal door of the storage cage shut with a resounding clang, sealing Angel inside with a sinking sense of dread. His eyes widened in disbelief as he watched Kendra swiftly bolt the door, her mocking laughter echoing through the cramped confines of the enclosure.

"I think it's funny now," she taunted, her voice dripping with disdain as Angel found himself trapped.

With a surge of desperate strength, Angel threw himself against the door, his muscles straining as he attempted to break free from his confines. But the metal gate remained steadfast, the lock refusing to yield to his relentless assault.

"That girl," Kendra's voice broke through the air, drawing Angel's attention away from his futile efforts. "The one I saw you with before—"

"You stay away from her!" Angel's voice reverberated with fierce determination; his gaze fixed on Kendra with a steely glare.

"I'm afraid you are not in a position to threaten," Kendra retorted coolly, her tone devoid of remorse or hesitation.

Pressing his face against the cold metal bars of the gate, Angel's breath came in ragged gasps as he struggled to contain his mounting frustration. "When I get out of here, I'll do more than threaten—"

"Then I suggest you move quickly," Kendra interjected, her gaze flicking toward the row of high windows that lined the wall of the storage cage. Angel followed her gaze uneasily, his heart sinking as he realized the grim reality of his situation.

"Eastern exposure," Kendra explained with a chilling calmness. "The sun comes in a few hours." A twisted smile played at the corners of her lips. "More than enough time for me to find your girlfriend."

As Kendra turned to leave, Angel's fists clenched with impotent rage, his mind racing with futile schemes of escape. He threw himself against the door once more, each impact reverberating through the cramped confines of the cage.

But the lock held fast, mocking his efforts with its unyielding resolve.

And as night crept steadily on toward morning, Angel was left alone with the haunting certainty that time was running out, and the grim specter of dawn loomed ever closer.

November 20, 1997 – Thursday

Angel's Apartment

Dawn's senses jolted awake as a sudden sound pierced the silence, pulling her back from the depths of sleep. Her eyes snapped open, widening in alarm as she beheld the menacing sight before her: an axe embedded in the pillow mere inches from her vulnerable neck. With a sharp gasp, Dawn recoiled, twisting away from the lethal weapon to find her sister locked in a fierce struggle with a woman whose exotic eyes glinted with deadly intent. It was clear that the second assassin had tracked down her sister.

"You must be number two," Dawn quipped, her voice laced with a mixture of fear and defiance.

In the midst of the chaotic melee, Buffy deftly dodged a punch aimed at her, her movements fluid and precise. Kendra, undeterred, pressed the attack with relentless ferocity, her determination unyielding.

With lightning speed, Kendra launched a punch at Buffy, but to her surprise, Buffy intercepted the blow with effortless grace, catching Kendra's arm in mid-flight. In that fleeting moment, their eyes met, and an inexplicable sensation of recognition passed between them—a strange and unsettling connection that neither could fully comprehend.

Seizing the opportunity, Buffy swiftly capitalized on Kendra's momentary vulnerability. With a swift kick, she swept Kendra's legs out from under her, sending her crashing to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

But Kendra was not so easily defeated. As she attempted to retaliate by sweeping Buffy off her feet, she recoiled in horror at the sight that greeted her—a chilling transformation unfolding before her eyes. With a shiver of dread coursing through her veins, Kendra watched in disbelief as Buffy's arm underwent a startling metamorphosis, morphing into some kind of deadly weapon unlike anything she had ever seen before.

Kendra's voice cut through the tension like a blade, her tone firm and resolute as she addressed Buffy and Dawn with unwavering determination. "You are not a vampire," she stated, her gaze piercing as she sought to unravel the mystery that surrounded them. "Who are you?" she demanded; her curiosity tinged with a hint of suspicion.

Dawn's incredulous voice echoed in the charged atmosphere; her surprise palpable as she confronted the enigmatic woman. "You attacked my sister and you don't know who she is?" she exclaimed, her words laced with a mixture of disbelief and indignation. "Who the hell are you?"

With a defiant glare, Kendra squared her shoulders, her pride unyielding even in the face of uncertainty. "I am Kendra," she declared, her voice ringing out with quiet authority. "The Vampire Slayer."