*Tunnel network under the Red Square, Moscow, Russian Federation*
Ginny was panting hard. For almost three years now she had been impersonating Buffy Summers as a fighter in the underground systems of the world. She had passed through ancient Roman tunnels in Europe, modern underground freeways in the States, and karstic caves in Asia. All the while she had been fighting demons that thought they could spread their evil from beneath the feet of the unsuspecting human population.
She took pride in the fact that she had destroyed numerous clans of vicious creatures and managed to come out of it all almost unscathed. Sure, once every six months or so, a nasty would eventually get close enough to take a big enough chunk out of her flesh to require a trip to the Slayer Castle for a couple of weeks of recuperation, but the rest of the time, she was one of the slayers with the biggest body-count there was: top ten at least.
Right now, however, she didn’t feel like patting her own back at all. She was dirty, tired and had three not-so-shallow gashes down the length of her left arm. Worse than any of that, though, was the fact that her entire team was dead, and she herself was running for her life. She had had casualties before, that much was true. Her dreams, whenever she found the time to actually sleep, were haunted by the faces of the seven girls she had led to their deaths. But this was the worst blow yet.
She had received a tip off that a powerful vampire lord was trying to take control of the Moscow underground, and she had taken all four members of her squad and gone in pursuit. Her team was one of the few that had not been grounded in the wake of Dracula’s deceit. When she’d gotten to the presumed meeting place, however, instead of Dracula, as she’d half-expected, she came face to face with a female vampiress that could only be Drusilla.
Ginny had recognized her by the crazy ramblings and old-fashioned clothes, as well as from her portrait—one of the many she had had to memorize before she was allowed to start her mission as a Buffy impersonator. Before she’d even had a chance to ponder the reason for Drusilla’s presence there posing as a Vampire Lord, her team had been spotted. It had all gone downhill from that point.
For the first time ever, the slayers had been outnumbered and outgunned, with the twenty or so demons under Drusilla’s control all wielding various firearms—something the squad had almost never had to deal with before—including a couple of rocket-propelled grenade launchers. Who takes a fucking RPG underground? You have to be mad to- Oh, wait. Yeah, that explains it.
Her team had been slaughtered within seconds, despite their Kevlar vests and other protective gear, and she had only gotten away by managing to split in half the head of one of the demons that was guarding the entrance. The ugly, scaly beast, with pointy teeth and even pointier claws, had managed to slash at her arm before slumping to the floor in a gurgling mess, but that hadn’t stopped her flight.
Too bad she hadn’t gotten very far before the bastards had tracked her. Now, as she was running as fast as she possibly could, her own sweat getting into her wounds and creating a stinging burn in her arm, her breathing so labored that it sounded like a bellows to her own ears; she knew her pursuers were only a couple of dozen feet behind her. She was forced to make as many twists and turns as she possibly could, risking being cut off, so as not to give the ones behind her a clear shot.
All of a sudden, there was a greater light at the end of the tunnel she was currently careening through. Her mind started going a mile a minute, trying to remember the details of the underground plans she had memorized before she had even gotten to the city. If her memory served her, and as a former pre-med, she had a pretty good feeling about it: up ahead was a junction for several major sewer systems, from where she could possibly be able to baffle the demons and escape. She only had to get to-
One of the most easily recognized weapon sounds in the world is that of the AK-47 on semi-automatic. The five shots that resounded throughout the sewers were followed by complete silence as Ginny’s lifeless body collapsed in a heap, like that of a marionette with its strings cut.
~~~***~~~
*Room 576, Secret Training Facility, Continental US*
General Rhoades’ map was bleeding. Or at least that’s what someone would have thought, had he looked at it out of the corner of their eye. The various highlighted locations on the map—indicating what were believed to have been, at some point in time, active Hellmouths—were turning bright red one by one, as reports came in that team after team of Spec-Ops being sent to investigate them disappeared. Highly trained personnel, from all the countries of the world, were being lost at an incredible rate.
Ever since the Initiative fiasco in Sunnydale, the US military had spent a lot of time and resources to create a network of agencies all over the globe that collected and shared information on HST activity. They had identified numerous locations just like Sunnydale with active portals attracting activity, right up until something or other had destroyed them.
Pompeii had been destroyed in an eruption, Sunnydale’s cover story was a meteorite impact, and Hiroshima had been leveled by an atom bomb that the Allies were going to use anyway, but that the British Government had insisted be deployed on that particular city. Further digging had uncovered that a certain Council of Watchers had been involved, just as with Sunnydale. Now all of these locations were being closely monitored by the members of the International Supernatural Awareness Pact and, one by one, they were being taken over by someone or something.
Rhoades picked up the telephone and barked a couple of orders. Soon, he was in contact with the officer in charge of operations in South and Central America.
“Camp Delta, Major Riley Finn speaking.”
“General Rhoades here—I have a job for you, Major. I need you to get in touch with the Slayers and ask them what the Hell is going on with the Hellmouths. As soon as you know something, I want a full report.”
“Am I permitted to leave my post if the mission requires it, Sir?”
Rhoades could practically hear the snap of Finn’s heels. Ever since he had returned to the Army, his actions had been exemplary, and his knowledge of the HSTs allowed for him to climb the promotion ladder relatively quickly for his age. The aging General liked obedience and lust for authority in a subordinate; such qualities made them useful tools. “Do whatever you have to, Major. Leave Captain Finn in charge there if need be.”
Sure, military code usually meant that fraternization was frowned upon, but the Finns had been given special dispensation, due to the delicate nature of their mission. It was commonplace for his wife to take her husband’s place in command when his duties required him elsewhere. She was particularly well-suited for negotiations with the other agencies with which they had to cooperate in South America. She was better than her husband, actually. As far as the General was concerned, having Riley go on an information gathering trip and leave his wife to organize the defense of the former Hellmouths was a win-win situation. He put the receiver back in the cradle and went back to contemplating his world map and monitoring the growing number of red dots.
~~~***~~~
*Brenner Pass, border between Austria and Italy*
A freight truck marked with the name of some transport company from Eastern Europe was driving on the highway through the Alps connecting Austria with Italy. Shortly after passing the highest elevation on the motorway, two cars maneuvered so that they framed the truck between them. Within seconds, dark shapes detached themselves from the undercarriages of the cars and maneuvered under both the truck and the trailer. A few bangs and crashes that didn’t even register in the driver’s cabin were all that could be heard as the shapes slithered into the back and completed their task.
When the driver arrived at his destination and opened the doors, he blanched at the sight before him. Everything he had been transporting was broken, with blood splattered everywhere, but thankfully no bodies. He tried to make heads or tails of what had happened, but couldn’t wrap his mind around it. After calling his boss, he got a container of fuel, dumped it into the truck, and set his rig on fire. A colleague would soon pick him up and bring him back home, never to speak of anything that he had seen ever again.
~~~***~~~
*Courtyard fountain, Slayer Castle, Scotland*
Buffy was standing in front of the fountain, almost as she had done countless times before, but not quite. This time she was wearing her training clothes instead of a dress; she was standing instead of sitting on the stone bench, and she was wired instead of relaxed. All in all, it was the complete opposite of her usual contemplative mode. And it was all his fault.
Ever since Spike had arrived, her peace in this place had all but evaporated. Where once she could stand there and not focus in on any particular subject, on any particular memory, letting them wash over her in a flood instead, like waves rolling over the pebbles on a beach, now she was feeling restless, ungrounded, as though ants were crawling under her skin. She wanted to go, do, act, and stop thinking for a while. And yet she knew that she needed to think things through. She had gone in without thinking before; they both had, and it had ended so badly, it made her shudder. Still, though, overthinking had also gotten her in trouble.
“Stupid vampire with his stupid hair.”
“Talking to yourself, Slayer? And about poor little ol’ me, no less? Makes me feel all kinds of giddy inside.”
She turned around cursing herself for not being able to sense him. Out of the whole population of the castle, he alone could still sneak up on her, and he was the last one she wanted to have that ability. There he was: strolling towards her, hands in the pockets of his faded jeans, the same ones he’d fought her in, same dark blue shirt, too.
“We need to talk.” There it was: the opening for the coming discussion. This time, she wouldn’t chicken out; this time they would talk about it.
“I know.” He sat down until he was sprawled on the bench, legs spread and looking as carefree as possible. They both knew he wasn’t.
“I have to know—” She decided to sit down beside him, kicking at his legs so he was forced to sit up. Looking him up and down again, she felt she just had to wipe the smirk off his face. “Did you know the tan makes you look older?”
He looked at her with an odd expression and then decided to light up a cigarette. Before he had a chance to, however, the pack was snatched out of his hands. “Oi! First you insult a bloke and then you take away his fags? Now that’s just not playing fair.”
She just grinned and put the crumpled packet in her back pocket. “You’ll live with it.” Giving him a sidelong glance, she set her sights on the fountain again. It was easier to talk if she didn’t see him, especially in the waning light of the day that seemed to make him look even better than normal. “Speaking of which, what are you now, really?”
He exhaled slowly, trailing the fingers of his left hand through his hair. When he spoke, he did so softly, as if afraid that raising his voice would disturb the magic of the moment. “I have no bloody clue. One day I was the same run-of-the-mill souled vampire, and the next, I found myself spread eagle on the ground, in plain view of ol’ sunshine upstairs, and I wasn’t burning. For a while I thought I got the Shanshu, especially when I started eating people-food when I got hungry as often as I needed blood. Sure got that wrong.”
Buffy couldn’t not ask the question that had been rattling around in her mind ever since she had found out about the prophecy. “Why did you want that so much? I get why Angel thought it was the best thing since sliced bread, but you?”
“The Poofter started wanting it back when he thought he could just show up as a full-blooded human and all would be forgotten; you’d jump his overgrown bones, and that would be that. Me, well, initially I just wanted it because he did, and I wanted to piss him off, show him who’s really got the wrinklies and all that.” He looked down in a bashful manner. “Then it just seemed like a good idea. Become something other than the ‘bloodsucking fiend.’” Raising his head with a boyish grin, he added. “I wanted to become a real boy.”
She didn’t smile back, instead locking her eyes with his. “But why? You’re Spike, you like being a vampire more than anyone I know. Why would you do that?”
“For me.” He almost shouted, but then continued in a softer tone. “I wanted it for me, okay?” When he caught on that she obviously didn’t understand, he explained further. “I wrote poetry for a woman; I got turned for another; I got a soul for yet another. I just wanted to do something for myself. I wanted to feel like my destiny was my own for probably the first time in my life.”
“I’m sorry—”
“No, don’t. You have nothing to be sorry for, pet. I chose to be love’s bitch, and I’m proud of it. I just wanted to change tracks for once. So I latched on to this idea and hung on for dear life. Only, in the end, it wasn’t me.”
“Why did Angel get it, then?”
“He really wanted it, I guess. As soon as I started… changing, I realized I didn’t want to become human. I like the power and the violence too much to want to return to being a simpering fool of a pulser. I fought it tooth and nail, even though I really like walking around in sunlight. Luckily, when we researched it, it was clear I was evolving into something else, not becoming human.”
Buffy felt a sting in her heart at that. She didn’t really know what Spike was turning into, but to hear him refute humanity that way seemed like a slap in the face for her, somehow.
“When we came through and Angel turned human, it was almost a relief. Should have seen Peaches; he was strutting around like he was the salt of the earth.” He snorted for good measure. “As for me—”
“You can walk in the sun, eat human food, and, most of all, you’re stronger. And I don’t mean worked-out-at-the-gym-stronger, I mean you could have easily knocked out a slayer back there. What happened?” She realized her slip of the tongue too late for him not to catch it and braced herself for his drilling.
“That’s right. I’m stronger. Been getting stronger ever since Sunnyhell. Each day I can feel myself getting sharper, more powerful, faster, but that doesn’t change one thing. You said I could have knocked out a slayer, and you’re probably right. So, Buffy, what are you? ”
He was looking at her so intently that she felt as though he could have seen her down to the bones if he tried, maybe even further still. “I’m what Xander keeps calling a ‘Super Slayer.’ I’ve noticed that I’m more powerful than I’ve ever been, and my senses are getting better and better. Even my spidey-sense can pick up anything and anyone, human or demon, as soon as they get within a hundred feet of me. All, that is, except you.”
He grinned at her again. “Guess they just don’t make them like us anymore, huh?”
Smiling herself, she swatted at his arm. “Yeah, I guess we’re unique.”
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Author's Chapter Notes:
So 'A breath is but a soundless whisper' isn't going forward as I hoped it would, mostly because I don't actually have the time to sit down and write, so I decided to put up some chapters of this, since they've been lying around and gathering dust for a while.