Willow let a soft whine escape her lips as she peaked open an eye, only to see Tara's face filling her vision. She raised an eyebrow, "Morning, Tara."

Tara blushed and pulled back. "S-sorry," she said. "I, um… You were out for a while and I got k-kinda bored. I w-was counting your freckles."

Willow tried to laugh but her throat was dry. "How many did you count?"

"Sixteen."

"You should see the rest of me."

Tara blushed more, and after a moment Willow did too.

"Wait. That's not what I meant…" Willow's awkward laugh was interrupted as her eyes got heavy and she had to balance herself against Tara's arm. "Whoa…"

"You okay? You sound…"

"Yeah yeah, I'm fine," said Willow. "They just made me do a lot of magick. I'm the lucky one—at least they're not playing Monopoly with my insides."

"Monopoly?"

"Or… Operation. How are you feeling?"

"A lot better," said Tara. "Th-thanks for fighting for me. I… I think they w-would have let me die if you didn't. I… I am sorry y-you had to do that for me."

"Don't be," said Willow. "I'm glad I could help. Besides… I don't hate getting to practice my magick without having to hide it. But they think they can just threaten and tase it out of me, and I just don't have that kind of power. They think I'm some kinda super-witch."

Tara shrugged, "You are powerful, Willow. Or at least, you can be. I can see it, and I bet their machines are s-saying the same thing. But you're right: they can't force you to get stronger. You should be training with other w-witches."

"Like you?"

Tara smiled shyly.

"Hey. When we get outta here, there's some really cool spells I've read about we can do together."


This time when Buffy awoke, it was to the thick, wet growls, muffled as though in another room. Still, Slayer instincts always on, she hopped up into a fighting stance when she opened her eyes and saw the snarling demon mere feet from her.

Then she realized it was behind glass.

"Alright Walsh," said Buffy, still eyeing the demon, but also getting a glance around the room: another lab, or maybe the same one as before, in a glass cage herself with a partition between herself and the demon. "Come on out. What's your game this time?"

Walsh stepped slowly, evilly into the lab, and Buffy rolled her eyes. Did the Professor always have to make an entrance?

"Good. You're awake," Walsh said. "I want to see you in action."

"You can give me your face to punch. That's action," said Buffy.

"Even better," said Walsh. "This is Hostile 11. We found it attacking some sorority sisters on campus last month. You say you slay demons." She pressed a button and the door between Buffy's cell and the thing's opened. "Slay the demon."


The floor was sticky, and Xander dreaded to imagine with what. He plopped his mop down and started to clean the floor in one of the labs, but dropped the mop and leapt away in fright as a demon jumped at him. Then he remembered that the glass-like barriers would keep him wholly protected, and he chuckled as he continued his work.

"Looks like old Xander's got the upper hand this time!" he said. "You know, it was always pretty lame behind the one without powers, but look at me now! Buff and Will are lab rats and I'm the badass who's gonna save 'em!" He slipped on his own mop water. "Ow. The… janitor, who's gonna save 'em…"


"Where are you from?" said Willow, twirling her hair in bordem as she laid against the wall of their cell.

"Uh… The middle of nowhere, kinda," said Tara. "It's a village up in Northern CA. What about you?"

"Sunnydale, California. Born 'n raised."

"Is that…" Tara said, "Is that how you found magick? Sunnydale is… Well, It's strange. There's a call of magick here. I know there's something about it."

"Hellmouth," Willow laughed. "That would be the 'something'."

"Sunnydale's on a Hellmouth?" Tara whispered. "I thought Hellmouths were a myth."

"You know about Hellmouths?"

"My mother w-was a witch," said Tara. "She taught me everything I know, everything she could. She taught me about evil so I would…" She bit her lip. "So I would stay away from it. So I would never become like... that..."

She trailed off. Willow decided not to pry.

"That's cool that your mom does magick," said Willow. "Mine tried to burn me at the stake once! Does that count?"

"She what?" said Tara.

"She was kinda under a curse. Still not gonna tell her I can summon the elements again, though."


"Very good, Miss Summers," said Walsh. "And you hardly broke a sweat."

"Gimme what you got," said Buffy. "I don't mind taking out the trash."

"Have you ever considered joining the military, Miss Summers? Fighting demons with our resources?"

"I don't take orders from psychopath mad scientists," said Buffy. "Is that all you want? For me to join you?"

"I don't know if that's going to work. You see," said Walsh. "You are arrogant and insubordinate. You wouldn't do so well as part of the Initiative. A shame some brat like you was gifted these abilities." She sighed. "But if that strength and skill can be thrust upon a teenage girl… Well, surely it can be bestowed upon our servicemembers too, don't you think? We just have to figure out how."

"You think giving your commandos super strength is gonna work out for you, Doc? Can you spell 'coup'?" said Buffy. "This power means something. It's sacred or whatever. If it gets into the wrong hands—"

"There's that arrogance. Who's to say your hands are 'right'? Because you were 'chosen'?"

"I mean… yeah."

"Whoever 'chose' you, Hostile…" Walsh spat, "You're mine now."

Walsh started to walk away. "I don't kill humans," Buffy called after her, "But when I get outta here I'm gonna… Uh, sue you or something!"

Walsh didn't seem to care as she exited the room, her scientist goon shutting the door behind her.

Buffy huffed. She sure was getting bored being left in empty cages without so much as a magazine to read. She could hear muffled voices outside, and she tuned her Slayer senses to listen to the scientists on the other side of the door.

"She's not very cooperative," said Walsh. "I'd love to have someone like her working for us without risk of subterfuge.

The scientist shrugged. "Behavior modification?"

"No," Walsh said. "Not until we learn how to replicate her powers. For all we know, they are connected to the brain. We have never dealt with a 'Slayer' before." She sounded excited, now, "What about the newest witch in M-2? Can we chip her? That hasn't affected the potency of witches' abilities in the past."

"Evidence of recent traumatic brain injury in her imaging makes 24 a poor candidate for surgical implantation of the behavior modification device," said the scientist. "Unless you are willing to risk permanent neurological damage."

"No," Walsh said quickly. "Don't risk it. We'll find another way." She hummed briefly. "How old is the brain damage?"

"Less than two years," said the scientist. "Scans suggest there was major trauma to the frontal lobe in addition to minor skull fracture and spinal cord injury likely due to blunt force impact. Why?"

Buffy blinked. They couldn't be talking about Willow. Could they?

"It's just—according to 24's own account, this injury lines up very closely with when the subject developed these powers. Suppose there is a connection between traumatic brain injury and supernatural ability?" said Walsh.

"I'm gonna kill her," Buffy muttered to herself, pacing angrily around her cell. "I can't believe she came in after me! I'm gonna save her, and then I'm gonna kill that stupid witch!"

"Correlation is not necessarily causation, Doctor," the scientist cautioned as Buffy continued listening.

"I'm not suggesting we start bashing all our witches in the heads to see if they suddenly grow more powerful," said Walsh. "But maybe it's deeper than that: suppose stress, injury, negative emotions, trauma both physical and psychological can temporarily increase power output and stamina. Suppose even permanently, in the long-term. Our own studies suggest that werewolf transformations can be triggered by negative stimuli rather than only the phases of the moon. Suppose it is similar for witches, whose abilities are also said to be affected by the lunar cycle."

There was some reluctance in even the scientist's voice when he answered, "Suppose..."

"Suppose," Walsh continued, "There were a way to test this theory?"

Buffy could hear the other scientist gulp.

"Bastards," Buffy growled. She banged on her cell despite the electric jolts it gave her. "You bastards! You lay a latex-gloved hand on her and I'll— I'll…—"

"You'll what?" said Walsh as she entered the room again. "You'll kill me?"

"Don't. Touch her." Buffy warned. "It's not true anyway. I've seen Willow do plenty of happy magic." Still, she couldn't help but to recall Willow's most powerful spells: Angel's re-ensoulment, post-coma in a hospital bed; the summoning of her vampire doppelganger, royally pissed-off all day; her 'will be done' spell, depressed, lonely, and drowning her sorrows in alcohol. "She's not as strong as your machines are telling you," Buffy whimpered. The gravity of the discussion settled like a rock in her stomach and she felt chilled to the bone. If Buffy could hardly stand what these goons had been doing to her, there was no way Willow would be able to endure torture in the name of experimentation. "You'll kill her. Please don't hurt her. Please."

Walsh leaned forward until she was right above Buffy, apparently quite amused to see the Slayer beg. She smirked, "I'll do whatever I want."

This time when Walsh and the scientist left, Buffy could hear their footsteps fading away down the hall. She wondered when they were gonna knock her out to send her back to her cell. Maybe Walsh just wanted to leave her to wallow just to show her she could .

Eventually the door opened again, and Buffy didn't even bother looking up, figuring it was a goon finally here to drug her.

"Buff!"

Her eyes widened and her head snapped to the newcomer: it was Xander. In fatigues. With a mop. "Xander?" Buffy exclaimed. "What the— How the— Who the— Xander?"

"Four great questions, Buff. Short answer is: Yes, and I'm here to rescue you."

"No offense Xand," said Buffy. "But how?"

"Still working that out," said Xander. "So far my new gig is strictly reconnaissance."

"Your new gig as… G.I. Janitor?"

"Okay, only one of us got herself kidnapped by mad scientists and it's not me, so I'd lay off the jokes if I were you."

"Okay, Private Harris."

"What have they been doing to you in here?" said Xander. "You okay?"

"Mostly," said Buffy. They both glanced at the dead demon that was starting to smell. "They're really interested in what I can do. Sounds like they're looking for a way to make… more Slayers. But these ones big burly commandos."

"That's impossible," said Xander.

"Well, let's hope it takes 'em a while to figure that out," said Buffy. "Once they don't have a use for me anymore… Well, I'm afraid they might start getting dissect-y."

"You're gonna be fine. We're gonna get you out."

Buffy glared. "Willow's in here too, isn't she?"

"Have you seen her?" said Xander. "Giles had a way to contact her but I guess they did something funky to her magic so now it's radio silence."

"I didn't know till just now," said Buffy. "I heard them talking about a witch. Xander, we have to stop them. They're gonna torture her."

"Torture Will?" said Xander. "Why would they—?"

"I don't know," said Buffy. "They think it's gonna make her more powerful."

"Logic… not logic-ing…" said Xander.

"How could you let her follow me in here?" said Buffy. "Are you guys crazy?"

"She insisted!" said Xander. "And we had no other choice. She already got us some intel. Your professor's behind all this, sounds like."

"Walsh. I know," said Buffy. "Xander, in their eyes we're animals. Monsters. We're not human, and they don't have to treat us like them either. I'm the Slayer; I can take it. But Willow's just a person. They're gonna break her, Xander, and it's gonna be all my fault."


Laughter echoed off the sterile lab walls as Willow cackled in euphoric glee. "That tickles!"

One scientist glared at the other. "How much nitrous did you give her?"

"She tried to bite me!" the other scientist cried.

"Come on, Twenty-Four," said the first scientist. "Stay still and we'll be done soon."

They were taking tissue samples or something. Willow couldn't bring herself to care anymore. "Buffy's gonna stop ya," said Willow. "She's super-duper strong. Super-duper-super-duper-duper-duper-duper…"

"Can you shut her up? Jeeze, I'd rather be working on a big scaly thing," the scientist huffed. "How many samples is Walsh gonna have us biopsy before she believes this girl's biology is entirely human?"

"I think we're gonna be seeing a lot of this one for a while," said the other scientist. "Walsh is crazy about her."

"You're crazy," Willow muttered. "Loony bin for you, mister!"

"She's kinda cute," the same scientist said. "Just a kid. If her biology is human… I mean, don't you ever feel kinda bad?"

Willow grabbed the other scientist's hand and bit him till she drew blood. "Blech. Vampires are gross. It's like drinking a penny."

"Ow, bitch!" cried the doctor. He drew his hand away and slapped Willow in the face on instinct. "No," he growled, "I don't."


When Xander reported back to Giles, the Watcher's blood got icy and his hairs stood on end when he heard about the plans the Walsh apparently had for Willow. He knew he had to start making moves if they were going to get the girls out before they were injured or worse.

"Tell me, Professor," said Giles. He sat across from Walsh at a rather fancy restaurant, sipping wine. "What is your stance on… human experimentation?"

"Are you referring to psychological studies with human test subjects? There is nothing wrong with it so long as ethics guidelines are followed."

"I am thinking more of… physical experimentation. Vivisection and the like. Torture, even. If it had scientific value."

"I think it is absolutely despicable. I would never partake in something so unethical," said Walsh as she twirled her pasta onto her fork. "Animals, however… Well, if it forwards the progress of humans, I see no problem with it. And even less when it comes to… monsters."

"And what constitutes a monster, Professor?"

"You know what I'm talking about, Mr. Giles."

"Vampires, demons..."

"...werewolves, witches. If they were real," said Walsh, "I would have no problem doing what I needed to learn how to stop them. Or how to use them to help our cause. The cause, that is, of the human race." She leaned back in her chair. "This is all purely hypothetical, of course."

"A shame they aren't real, then," said Giles, eyes steady, voice steadier. "Imagine all we could learn from them." He cleared his throat. "I do apologize if my questions are coming off… probing. I am simply fascinated by your work."

"Have you read other psychologists, Mr. Giles?" said Walsh.

"Excuse me?"

"I know you said you were uninterested in the topic previously," said Walsh. "But surely you've delved deeper into the field since discovering this passion."

"Erm," said Giles. He wracked his brain for any psychologist. What names he knew he couldn't connect to any topics or works, and any topics he was familiar with he couldn't connect to names, save for the classics like Freud and Jung, but he had a feeling Walsh wasn't going to buy those as products of his newfound interest.

The answer came out of his mouth before he could even think it through.

"Dr. Rosenberg!" he blurted. "Erm, she is a resident of Sunnydale. I, um, was introduced to some of her work by a… student. I mean, a colleague."

"Dr. Rosenberg." Maggie nodded slowly. "I am familiar with her work on adolescent psychology. She wrote a paper on juvenile fixations with the occult."

Suddenly Giles realized that this could be an opportunity to get information, or at least to study Walsh for a reaction. Or maybe, even, to implant the seed of some kind of guilt. "Yes, her daughter was one of my students." Giles knew that Walsh was smart, but he also knew, at this point, that she was cold and confident. Probably too confident to make the connection that Giles' relationship to Willow was anything more than superficial and past-tense.

"I didn't know Dr. Rosenberg had a daughter," said Walsh, her eyes betraying nothing. "She never spoke of her in her writing."

Giles shrugged. "I never met Dr. Rosenberg. She wasn't around much, my colleagues tell me. It's rather ironic: Dr. Rosenberg seemed to be so busy lecturing about adolescent psychology and the importance of parenting that she never seemed to take an interest in her daughter at all."

"Good," Walsh muttered to herself, apparently on instinct, and Giles had to try really, really hard not to grin in victory: even if he couldn't get Walsh sweating by discussing one of her captives, this was all the proof he needed that the professor was really up to no good. "I mean," Walsh quickly revised, "Children are important but they certainly shouldn't get in the way of science."

"I'll have you know, Dr. Walsh," Giles said, nerves struck and self-control slipping, "That Willow Rosenberg was an extremely intelligent student with a bright future ahead of her. She is resourceful, resolved, and nothing short of brilliant. She has never encountered a problem she could not solve." His gaze was vaguely threatening.

But Walsh did not crack. "She is in my class. I found that as well." She shrugged, "But she stopped showing up. Maybe my class was too much for her. Maybe that parental neglect finally got to her."

"You have no idea where she is?"

"Why would I?"

They glared at each other for a while. Then Walsh stood.

"I'd like to do this again, Mr. Giles."

He blinked. "You would?" He was certain he'd blown his cover by revealing his concern for Willow.

"You are perceptive and intriguing, Mr. Giles. I get the feeling you know more than you are letting on, and I live to crack skulls like yours." She chuckled in this heartless way, "Figuratively, of course."