Buffy had come to Los Angeles to escape slaying, a calling that had cost her everything—her nuclear family, her cushy Los Angeles home, her youth, and her love. If she’d never been called as the Slayer or had followed through on her initial instinct to tell Merrick he was insane and needed to leave before she called the cops, her life would not have taken the course it had. She wouldn’t have moved to Sunnydale, she wouldn’t have met Angel and fallen in love, she wouldn’t have been responsible for unleashing Angelus upon the world, and she wouldn’t have had to kill the first man she ever loved. Most of all, she would not be here; existing as a shell of her former self, plagued by the gnawing pain of loss and the knowledge that Angel was dead at her hand. She did not want to be the Slayer anymore. She wouldn’t be the Slayer anymore. She had paid her dues and lost her heart in the process. As Anne she did not have these problems; she could pretend to be like any other girl facing the challenges of independence. Anne did not have to worry about vampires and tenuous souls. Anne did not have blood on her hands.

Yet here she was, following a determined Lily toward the Family Home Teen Shelter despite the warning bells that clanged loudly in her head. She had been unable to convince the other girl not to go and unwilling to let her go alone. The outside of the building was innocuous enough; white clapboard exterior set between two identical buildings. But the energy radiating from the building was anything but innocuous. It set her teeth on edge. Again Buffy wondered what she was doing here; investigating possibly supernatural disappearances was no longer supposed to be part of her life. You’re here because if you weren’t and Lily died it would be all your fault, whispered that voice in her head, the one that sounded like the 15-year-old child who used to lie awake listening to her parents fight with silent tears coursing down her cheeks. Your fault. Just like Angel, just like Miss Calendar... Buffy forcibly pushed those thoughts from her head as the door opened and a man in a polo and khakis invited them inside.

They were directed to a door on the right of the entryway, an overly cheerful looking yellow sign proclaiming “Ken’s Office!” was taped to the outside. Ken was seated on the other side of a desk but had clearly been waiting for them, as his elbows were perched on the surface and his ever-present “I understand your pain” smile was on full display. The door was closed behind them and Ken stood, offering his hand to each girl in turn. “Welcome! I think you’ll find that you fit in perfectly at Family Home. Just remember, you are not alone anymore. Everyone here is running from something!” On that dubious(?) note, he indicated a doorway at the back of the small room, mumbling something about a shortcut.

Buffy pressed closer to Lily, tugging on her arm. When Lily turned to look at her, Buffy tried to wordlessly convey that they needed to get out of here. Her response was a sad shake of the head, as Lily resolutely stepped through the door that Ken was holding open. With a weary sigh, Buffy followed. She realized just how bad the situation was when she bumped into Lily’s back. The other girl was frozen, staring at two broad-shouldered men armed with semi-automatics. Buffy heard the click of the door closing just as she felt the barrel of a gun pressed between her ribs.

“Into the pool ladies,” Ken said, patronizing tone replaced by a cold detachment. Lily complied immediately. Buffy was attempting to figure out a way to disarm all three men in one move—Spin kick, maybe? Ken seemed to sense the direction of her thoughts and cocked his gun. “Not a smart move. You’re outnumbered and unarmed. You can die a bloody death now or you can get in the pool.” The last was said as a growl and Buffy forced herself to move forward. She sat at the edge of the black shimmering pool and without a backward glance, scooted over the edge.

She landed in a heap on a hard surface. Make that a filthy surface, she added as she rose up into a crouch, frowning at the dirt clinging to her cargo pants and top. She raised herself fully only to come face to ugly demon-face with a spiked club wielding creature. Its face was an angry red color, with deep grooves extending out from the center, reminding Buffy inexorably(?) of a burn victim. It was a little taller than her but broader than two of Sunnydale High’s best linebackers. It wore a brown cloth tunic and pants, shaking a clawed hand to the left. Buffy followed his gesture and saw a line of young men and women standing near a balcony. More demons similar to this one were standing near the silent assembly. Seeing Lily, Buffy moved to join her. The sound of chatter filtered up to the balcony from the floor far below. Buffy cast a quick glance over the edge and noted the multitude of well-dressed demons and human men and women who were milling(?) about a large open room with a projection screen taking up one side. The current image on the screen read, “Please stand-by as we process new recruits and prizes. Next fight will commence in 1:30:15.” One of the red demons was moving between the waiting observers, exchanging tickets for money. As Buffy joined the queue of silent humans in what was looking more and more like a demonic betting club, Ken’s voice floated through her head: “Everybody’s running from something.” Unfortunately, Buffy thought, they were running in the wrong direction.

Two demons, one wielding another club and the other a clipboard, filed down the line. They would stare at the individual in front of them and, with a shake of the head from the clipboard carrying demon, the other brought the club down with enough force to render instant death. Buffy felt her stomach clench as one by one, they were felled. Clearly, Mr. Executioner deferred to Mr. Clipboard (?). The latter halted their progression when he got to Buffy, feeling the power come off of her in waves. “This one,” he said, indicating Buffy. “And the next two. Send them to Xarcala. You may dispose of the rest.”

Buffy, along with Lily and a third girl, were grabbed from behind by three additional demons. The girls were quickly bound with a metal chain and shoved toward a hallway that stretched off to the left. Buffy’s attempts to fight against the bonds yielded no results save a growl and a clawed hand closing painfully around her arm. The walk wasn’t long. The hallway opened up into a cavernous room that stretched far into the distance, ending in two massive black doors with red sympols. Hundreds of the red demons traverse the room, armed more heavily than those on the balcony, weaving around several rows of long, narrow cages that stretched from floor to ceiling.

 “Xarcala!” called the demon still holding Buffy’s arm. Her hand was beginning to tingle, the strength of the demon’s grip reducing the blood flow. Every instinct within her told her to fight, to attempt escape, but she knew she wouldn’t get far. Not against this many.

A demon, taller and broader than the others, which was quite a feat, appeared on their right. “New prizes?” he asked, the deep gravel of his voice setting Buffy’s teeth on edge.

“Yes,” returned her captor.

The tall one, Xarcala apparently, consulted a list clenched in his clawed hand; one which, Buffy noted, wore a pair of wicked looking brass knuckles. “Put them in T6,” he said, seemingly almost bored.

As they began moving down the long room, Buffy noticed that the cages weren’t empty, but were filled with all manner of demons, some sporting healing bruises and wounds, many of them growling and lunging at the bars as they passed. They stopped next to a cage near the middle of the right side of the room. This one contained a number of humans, along with a few demons. Buffy couldn’t tell for sure in some cases, but she got the feeling that the majority of these captives were females. A similar group was housed in the next cage down from this. When the door to the cage was unlocked, Lily and her guard led the way, brandishing his club toward the other occupants, though none of them were attempting to come forward. The demons in the cage preceding this hollered and snarled, pushing their arms through the bars. Buffy’s guard shoved her in with such force that she hit the far side of the cage, knocking the wind out of her and causing the chains still encasing her wrists to bite painfully into her skin.

“Get back,” growled one of the guards, using a long, wide blade with double serrated edges to threaten the demons away from the adjoining bars. Buffy felt the chain loosen and slide off her wrists but before she could completely turn around, the door to the cage was slammed shut and the lock returned. Looking at the other girls in the cage, Buffy was struck with the utter hopelessness of the situation. She’d run from her duty as the slayer only to end up a prisoner.

“Slayer?” questioned a voice from the adjoining cage.

Buffy spun towards it before she could think, but was unprepared for the sight that greeted her. Spike. There he was in his standard black t-shirt and jeans, clear blue eyes staring in surprise at her. The other demons in the cage with him seemed to have redirected their attention elsewhere, taunting others she couldn’t see. Buffy was expecting the typical feelings of exasperation and drive to kill, but instead found the dominant emotion was one of relief. Here was someone else with super strength. Someone who she knew and could kinda trust, infinitely more than anyone else in here anyway. She slowly approached the adjoining wall, Spike mirroring her movements on the other side. “Spike, where the hell are we?”

“’Fraid you pretty much called it,” he said, casting a glance around them. “Haven’t been here long myself but it definitely has an otherworldly feel to it.”

“Other—you mean Hell? As in comma the?”

“One of them. Yeah. This one seems to be run by some bloke named—“

“Ken. Yeah. We’ve met.”

“Really? Haven’t seen the blighter myself. He how you got here?”

“Sort of. He’s been running a scam through a blood-selling place and outreach for homeless people, turning them loose, crazy and dying. Lily and I—“

“Came to save the bloody day?” he asked, something between wry amusement and amazement coloring his voice, along with a tinge of condescension.

“No. Well, I don’t know. Lily was all wrapped up in this outreach thing and finding her boyfriend…one of the nameless dying people. But…I didn’t…I don’t…” She sighed. “I’m not the slayer anymore.”

His scarred brow rose at that. “Really? How you figure that?”

“I quit.” She said it so simply, almost detached, but Spike understood the subtext.

“I’d wager I know why you’d want to but it doesn’t work that way, pet.”

She bristled at the use of that endearment. “Oh yeah? Well, I’m the slayer and I quit. Seems pretty cut and dry to me. And you know nothing about my reasons…What the hell are you doing here anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be off with your ho, creating mayhem and destruction? Or is crazy Miss HoBag around here too?”

His blue eyes blazed, flashing gold for a split second, but she hadn’t missed the pain that fleetingly entered his eyes. “None of your bloody business you soddin’ cow.” Gone was the almost friendly tone he’d been using, in its place a cold hiss that, for the first time in a very long while, sent shivers of fear up her spine. This only served to piss her off more.

“Well, neither is my slaying! Except when I finally introduce your sorry ass to the business end of Mr. Pointy!” They stood nearly toe to toe, separated by the metal bars of their cage. He was about to retort when a clanging bell sounded, echoing up and down the long room.

Xarcala now stood a few rows away and could clearly be heard, even over the clamor of the myriad of demons and the still ringing bell. “Next match: the yethra from R5 and the greter’n from B7. Prize to be drawn from T7.” The captives on the other side of Buffy’s cage began crying and, in some cases, howling. She watched as one of the armed guards approached the cage door, holding the spiked club aloft as he opened the door and positioned himself in the threshold. The flurry of activity in the cage made it easy for him to isolate one girl, human-looking aside from her bright blue skin, from the rest as she was jostled too close to the door. She screamed and thrashed, but his vise-like grip was sufficient to drag her close enough for another guard to chain her. The chains, Buffy now noticed, moved of their own accord once extended toward the target, coiling with perfect accuracy around her wrists. The extra length of the chain was still in the guard’s hand and he yanked hard on it, causing her to scream again as she toppled backwards into his grasp. Once she was outside the cage, he began pushing her toward the big double doors, leaving the other guard to lock up. The girl continued to cry as she was forced through the doors, followed by four more guards, each pair escorting a demon. The doors shut with finality.

It was as if a spell had been cast upon the rest of the room. It seemed most of the other occupants were now looking at something to the left of the doors. Buffy craned her neck to see over the heads of her fellow captives, witnessing as a large screen flickered to life. While her view was still partially obscured by the bars and other people, she could see enough to tell that the footage was of some kind of arena, complete with boisterous crowd and announcer box. Beneath the announcer box but above the floor of the arena was a cage, much smaller than any of those in this room; in fact, as the blue girl was forced into it, Buffy saw that it was standing-room only. Though the cheers and hollers of the on-screen crowd eclipsed any other sound from the arena, the girl’s anguished pleas were clearly telegraphed as she searched the crowd, beseechingly.  Buffy wanted to look away, the image of the girl’s face one that she knew would stay with her for a very long time, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. She had to know what this was. What my fate is, she thought dismally. The slayer side of her that she so desperately wanted to ignore, rebelled at the thought, an almost primal rage threatening to develop but she tamped it down, knowing it would serve no purpose at the moment.

Onscreen, two doors at either end of the arena floor opened to admit the two demons that had been escorted out. Someone in the announcer box identified them by name and breed, to further cheers from the crowd, before stating that the fight was one to the death and the victor would receive the girl as a reward. She was evidently not identified by name, a fact that made Buffy’s blood boil, but only as a kristnat demon. Then the fighting began. The display was more brutal than anything Buffy had ever seen or could even begin to imagine.

Vibrant blood soon soaked the arena floor, and still Buffy watched. A girl in her cell retched in one corner. She couldn’t say how long the fight lasted, but its end almost prompted her to join the girl in the corner. The yethra, a sinewy, ochre demon with bone-like claws that extended like blades over its hands, forehead, and tail, had pushed one hand through the chest cavity of the greter’n. Its hand turned and it spun around, launching the greter’n into the center of the arena and in the process ripping its chest open from groin to neck. The yethra was declared the victor to a mix of cheers and boos from the crowd before being escorted out of the arena by two red demons. Buffy noted that while the yethra was still as much a prisoner as it had been before, its victory granted it a decrease in security, the guards leaving their weapons down at their sides.

The yethra reentered the chamber, followed by a single guard dragging a near-catatonic kristnat. The unexpected turn to the right caused Buffy’s eyes to shift from the group to the cage they were now clearly headed toward. This one was different, the same metal as all the others but with red markings coiling around the bars. It was higher up than the main cells, partially recessed into the wall. The kristnat female was thrown in without ceremony and the yethra allowed to follow. The guards seemed to be conveying information of some sort as they locked the door behind the yethra. It was only then that Buffy noted the heavy curtains that were tied to each corner; the yethra seemed to eye them for a moment before making a gesture that could have been a shrug and turning toward the kristnat.

Having figured out all too clearly where this scenario was headed, Buffy was finally able to force her eyes away, turning her back on the cage. Unfortunately nothing could block out the screams that soon emanated from the krisnat, broken by growls from the yethra and other demons in the room, who were all too happy to watch. Unbidden, Buffy’s eyes were drawn towards Spike, dreading that he too was watching what was happening in the cage. Instead his blue eyes were focused on her, conveying sympathy and something she could not name. For some reason, this only served to heighten her own awareness of her present circumstance and she felt fear gather in an icy pool in her stomach. Without being aware of it, she moved toward Spike and extended her hand through the bars as he did the same. As soon as their hands touched, the rising panic abruptly stopped, and she decided then and there that, however unwise the decision may prove to be, she would place her trust in Spike. After all, if there was anyone who had proven an uncanny ability to escape certain death situations with his hide intact, it was Spike.