Madrid 1943

March…

The vampire watched the smoke from his cigarette as it swirled in the air. He took a long drag, the faint orange glow at the tip illuminating as the paper burned away, then fading again while he paused to exhale noisily. He glanced up and down the street and tapped one foot against the wall he was leaning against. Then he spat on the ground and wiped at his lower lip with his free hand before scratching his chin.

"You're disgusting, you know that?"

The vamp jumped and spun to look at Spike leaning casually against the wall next to him, having materialized from the shadows, unnoticed. Spike smirked. He was getting better at being stealthy. Good.

"Spike." The vamp's shoulders slumped and he took another drag of his cigarette, as if Spike's sudden appearance hadn't startled him at all. "Thought you weren't going to show. You're late."

He was hiding his accent better. The Scandinavian hadn't taken long to adjust to life in Madrid after getting out when the trouble started in his homeland. He'd proven himself useful in the demon world, making contacts quickly and establishing himself as a fast talking business man as far as the demon underground went.

Spike folded his arms, tapping his fingers against the well polished leather of his recently acquired coat.

"Not late at all, mate. You just think I was. Wanted to make sure you were alone."

"Spike. You don't trust me? I thought we were friends?"

"I don't do the friend thing, Mads."

"So I see," the vamp said, nodding his head at the red band on Spike's arm, a swastika emblazoned on it, the symbol that had become all too familiar in recent times. "I can't imagine that's earned you too many friends. Tends to clash with your English accent, don't you think?"

Spike glanced down at the Nazi symbol and shrugged. "Came with the coat."

"And where exactly did you get the coat? Attacking S.S. members is not a smart thing to do. Or are you fighting in this human war out of a sense of patriotism?" Mads asked, laughing.

"Not bloody likely. You know where I got it. Speaking of, are we gonna stand around and chat all night or do you have something useful for me?"

While demons and vampires usually loved a good war in the human world, seeing opportunities everywhere for slaughter and mayhem, this one was proving to be a bother. It wasn't much safer for their kind than for humans, which made someone like Mads, with his ear to the ground, a handy ally. Spike had stumbled across him shortly after coming to Madrid, hearing that he was the one to ask for information about the recent attacks he'd endured.

Mads waved a hand dismissively as he finished his cigarette, throwing the butt on the ground and stamping on it while he adjusted his beloved fedora. Spike couldn't help rolling his eyes.

"What?" Mads asked, arms outstretched. Spike merely glanced up at the hat and back to Mads. "It's fashionable, kamerat, or I should say, amigo," Mads said, shoving Spike lightly on the shoulder. "This is true style. But you stick with your harsh, terror inspiring uniform, if it makes you feel like more of a vampire."

Spike growled and Mads winked at him, shoving his hands into the pockets of his loose fitting suit and rocking back on his heels. Mads looked to be in his late thirties, was tall and thin and smoked like a chimney. He had a few bad habits, such as spitting when he thought no one was looking, but they did little to detract from his natural charisma. Habits left over from his human days, no doubt, when he'd spent most of his time drunk off his ass. He'd told Spike he'd been poor, useless and lonely—pathetic, before his turning. Vampirism did some people some good, it seemed.

The fedora hid what Spike knew to be scruffy looking brown hair, keeping the fringe that fell to Mads' eyes out of his face. That would have been easy to take care of, if Mads had been bothered enough to cut it. Spike had chopped off his long locks decades ago. As Mads said, he stuck to a harsher, more threatening appearance; his now jet black hair gelled back against his head, hiding his natural curls. No need to waste energy intimidating people when your look could do it for you.

"We'd better go. Don't want to be late for the party," Mads said.

He checked his watch and Spike frowned. As far as he knew, Mads had found something out that might interest Spike. He didn't think they had anywhere special to be.

"What party?"

"You didn't hear? A very influential demon in the city is having a party tonight. All the most important people will be there, and I have an invite," Mads winked at Spike again, who scowled.

"I came here for information not some night on the town."

"Slapp av, kamerat. Relax, my friend. I didn't get where I am by ignoring serious problems just to party."

"It got you dead, didn't it?"

"And I wouldn't change it for the world. Being a vampire is glorious. I'm immortal now."

"Until someone sticks a pencil through your chest, yeah, you're real immortal."

"You take everything too seriously. The point I'm making is that you hear things by rubbing shoulders with others. You are not the only one to have been attacked by Nazis, Spike. Some have lost friends in these ambushes. I just so happen to know that the demon throwing this party is one such victim. He lost his brother to them a few weeks ago," Mads said, walking off and leaving Spike to follow.

"He's throwing a party after his brother disappeared? I can see how much he cares," Spike scoffed, following after the slightly taller vampire, annoyed that Mads was dragging him along to this thing.

"The meeting is to find allies who want to put a stop to this as much as you do. Strength in numbers as it were."

"You said party not meeting. Which is it? And I told you about the friend thing. I don't play well with others, so working together with a bunch of—"

"It's…litt av begge, a bit of both. No sense wasting an opportunity for a good bloodbath, especially during such trying times. I heard something about testpersonene, 'test subjects'."

"What?"

Mads turned to look at Spike over his shoulder, shrugging his shoulders as he led him onwards.

"I don't know the details, but a vamp who speaks German and had a narrow escape is positive he heard the term used. It doesn't sound good, especially since they seem to be referring to vampires."

Test subjects. Spike didn't like the sound of that one bit. Not bothering to learn languages anymore was actually proving to be a hassle for once, as Spike had no clue what the officers had been yelling when they attacked him. He understood when they were pleading for their lives just fine though. He adjusted the sleeve of his coat and brushed off a tiny bit of dirt. Spike really did like the black leather.

"It's just up ahead," Mads said, breaking the silence that had fallen over the pair.

Spike peered around the vamp but didn't see any grand looking building like he expected. It just looked like a regular house. Hardly befitting a social bloodbath. That didn't seem to concern Mads, who just rubbed his hands together, fiddled with his fedora and turned to grin widely at Spike.

"Let the free virgin blood party commence!"

Spike frowned and watched as Mads spun to the door. "Free virgin blood—Mads!"

The other vamp had already entered the building and Spike rushed in after him, grabbing his shoulder as they both stumbled into a darkened room that was suddenly flooded with bright light. Both vampires held up their hands against the dazzling beams and stepped back.

Strong arms wrapped around Spike's, and he felt himself get shoved forward. Instinctively, he reared back but they were prepared for it and avoided his attempts to shake them off, instead getting a tighter grip and tossing a sack over his head that shut out the blinding light. He felt a cord tighten around his throat as he was pulled to the floor, heavy weight piling on top of him as his attackers wrestled to pin his hands behind his back.

Around him, he heard several German voices issuing orders and a struggle. There was a thud as something hit the floor next to him. Mads. Had to be.

"Machen sie es enger! Halten Sie sie zuruckhaltend!"

Spike struggled harder but it was no good, something heavy and metal was wrapped around his wrists and legs and he couldn't move. He heard something that sounded an awful lot like a curse and the struggle next to him grew in intensity until the familiar sound of a vampire's roar ripped through the room, closely followed by gunshots. There was a scream and several feet ran off out of the room. More yelling.

"Lass ihn! Wir haben das, was wir wollen. William der Blutige."

"Oh bollocks," Spike muttered, wincing as the cord around his neck cut into his throat. He groaned when he received a kick to the ribs, he assumed, for talking.

There were more orders given he didn't understand and he felt himself being lifted and tossed into some cramped space before everything went completely dark and his mind started to blank.

No. Don't pass out…now.

***

Rage. It had been a while since he'd felt anger like this, but as he lay there in the dark, confined and restrained, barely able to hear anything beyond a constant droning hum in the background, Spike's anger grew into furious rage against his captors. Not only had they targeted him for some reason for some plan involving vampires that couldn't be at all good, but they'd also left him locked in a dark, tiny box to starve while they transported him who knew where.

So yeah. Rage. He was hungry, he was trapped, and he couldn't do a sodding thing about it while his hands were still chained beneath him and his feet were bound. He hadn't been confined like this since…a time he didn't want to think about, least of all now. Either they'd drugged him or knocked him out; he couldn't remember which, but he had a memory of drifting in and out of consciousness several times during the journey. Only now had he regained his senses fully.

He strained against his bonds but they weren't giving. Bastards knew what they were doing, and not having room to move didn't help any. He tugged again at whatever was locked around his wrists and felt the cord at his neck tighten. He stopped pulling at his restraints instantly. Crafty buggers. He wondered if putting too much effort into breaking loose would decapitate him. No. More likely he'd just break his neck or crush his windpipe, and strangling, while ineffective as a method of killing him, would still be a torturous sensation.

He blinked in the darkness, feeling his eyelids brush the canvas of the sack still over his head. It smelled musty and he growled as the scent only pissed him off more. He couldn't stay like this much longer. His stomach growled next and he couldn't help flexing his fists and tugging at his bonds again, regardless of the tightening cord. He was not going to slip now, not after all these years; he wouldn't be haunted again. He would not lose control because of some interfering, war hungry, world domination seeking prats. And human ones no less.

Feeling the cord biting into his skin through the scratchy material of the sack, Spike gritted his teeth and tried to move his hands apart, his elbows knocking against the sides of whatever box he was trapped in. He struggled for a while, twisting his wrists this way and that but to no avail. Eventually he had to stop and ease the pressure on his throat. He growled again and kicked at his prison, not getting far as his knees banged against the surface almost immediately and his feet barely moved, but he'd made some noise at least. Maybe he could lure someone over to check on him…not that he could do much yet.

It took him a second to trace the sudden smell of blood. His wrists stung and he realized that he'd rubbed the skin on his wrists raw. He shifted them a bit. Either he was so desperate that he was imagining it, or they felt looser. Maybe he could slip the cuffs, or chains, whatever it was binding him, if he kept trying?

It took longer than he would have liked, but finally he managed to get one hand free. Unfortunately, he couldn't move enough to untangle himself any further, but he did squeeze his arm up and start banging against the surface of the box, which, he discovered, must be made from metal.

Once he started making noise he didn't let up. His anger and hunger dulled his senses to anything other than the claustrophobia of the box and his single desire to get out. He could feel the metal denting and it urged him on. Either someone would come to check on him or he'd break his way out. Either way, he would be free.

He almost didn't notice when the lid of whatever metal crate he'd been locked in was opened as he continued to slam his fist upwards until it connected with something softer and he heard a shout. He swung his arm out and grabbed hold of the nearest object, someone's jacket and pulled. They were dragged down while Spike pulled himself up into a sitting position, wasting no time in freeing his other hand. He grabbed for the cord at his throat, frantically tugging at it until it came loose and he could tear the sack off his head. He blinked in the sudden light and snarled.

The man he'd grabbed hold of fell backwards, there was yelling and a gunshot. Spike felt his chest explode in pain as the bullet tore through him and he roared. Freeing his feet lightening quick, he lunged for the first body in sight. He tore into the man's neck and drained him in a few rapid pulls, tossing the carcass aside and moving onto the next just as quickly. They would all pay.

He grabbed a third man and flung him against the wall, where the man's skull caved in upon hitting a protruding lever amongst odd looking machinery. Spike barely took it in. The others were fleeing. He was shot again and he went for the one responsible, tackling him to the ground and wrestling the gun from his grip, sending it flying, then tore into the bloke's throat, barely drinking this time, more intent on killing alone. He didn't know what they wanted with him or why, but their plans would fail. He'd make sure of it.

Noise behind him drew his attention; a faint banging amongst the screams and shouts. He looked up, wiping the blood from his face and walked over to where he discovered several more metal crates, identical to the one he'd been trapped in. He wasn't the only prisoner. His rage and the fresh blood coursing through him allowed him to snap the lock off easily and swing the crate open. A vampire lay inside, bound the same way he had been. Spike removed the cord from the vamp's neck and grabbed its coat, hauling the creature up and freeing its hands. Spike took a step back after removing the canvas sack, unprepared for the ugliness of what was clearly a very old, if not ancient, vampire.

The thing snarled and clawed at the air, hissing at Spike until it recognized him for one of its kind and turned its attention to the box it was sitting in, looking confused. When it saw the dead bodies strewn across the floor, it grinned and rubbed its clawed hands together gleefully. Spike glanced to his left and saw a couple more crates, probably containing more vampires.

"Free the others and let's make sure these bastards don't even get the chance to think twice next time," Spike snarled, gesturing to the crates. Not waiting to see if the vamp understood him or not, he spun to go in search of his quarry.

They were in a submarine, he realized, finally taking notice of his surroundings and the instruments everywhere. A bloody submarine of all places. He inhaled and caught the tantalizing smell in the air, coming from the room behind him and ahead, to where some of the men must have been injured. He grinned at the accuracy of his previous statement. It would be a very bloody submarine by the time he was through.

They really weren't as clever as he'd given them credit for. They were gathered just up ahead, not that they really had anywhere to run to in a tin can beneath the ocean. Still, he'd expected them to at least watch their backs. It was as if they were completely unprepared for the prospect of their cargo getting loose. Overconfident gits.

A large, bald man was yelling orders. He was the leader then. Spike grabbed him and hauled him backwards, biting down hard. He was already full. The man beat at Spike's chest, struggling to break free. Spike dropped him, intending to let him just bleed out. The man grabbed for his neck and crawled backwards where one of his men was waiting for him.

"Captain?! Somebody help me! Get in here!"

The other man, more of a boy really (he was young) dragged his so called Captain backwards, trying to get away from Spike, but he was having none of it. They'd interfered with his world, and their Captain was responsible. Besides, he was already as good as dead.

"Oh, God. Help me!"

Fat chance of that. Spike grabbed the Captain's legs and pulled him away from the man who fell on one of his shipmates. Spike dragged the screaming Captain back to the previous compartment, where he took hold of the man's neck and twisted, until he heard the spine snap and blood spurted across the room from the open neck wound.

"Captain?!"

Spike looked up just in time to catch the terrified look on the crewman's face before he vanished through the doorway, slamming the door closed behind him, the sound of it being sealed shut echoing through the enclosed space. Spike picked bits of skin out of his teeth and dropped his vamp face. Around him he heard more screams, the vampires he'd left behind obviously enjoying their share of revenge.

It was only then, coming down from his high and finally pausing to think clearly that Spike recalled the men speaking English. He took a closer look at the bodies strewn around him, in particular their uniforms.

"Son of a—" Spike wiped a hand down his face, wearily. Americans.

***

The other vampires were certainly having fun. By the time Spike got back to them, all the humans who hadn't made it inside the compartment up front with the others were dead. They hadn't gone quietly either. As he'd walked back through the cramped space of the sub, screams of agony had echoed from a compartment further back. From the racket he was making, Spike could tell that the poor sod's death had been drawn out and painful, before everything fell abruptly quiet.

Spike found a cloth to clean his face with, the grubby square of fabric coming away red, before he went to introduce himself to his new friends. Like it or not he was stuck with them until they got out of the sub.

A large body blocked the door just as Spike was passing through it, and he had to pause and look up to see the vamp's face; the pointed beard drew his attention. He was a big fellow all right, but no one Spike recognized.

"You mind?" Spike asked, resting an arm on his knee as he stood half in and half out of the open doorway.

"Who are you?"

"I'm the one responsible for getting you lot out of your crates, mate," Spike said. "Not that I have the first clue how they squeezed you into this pipe. Now, how's about you let me in?"

The vamp sneered and brought a large axe into view, slapping the flat edge of it across one meaty palm. It clashed with his elaborate outfit that looked like some bizarre costume. The vamp thumped his chest like the great ape he resembled when he spoke.

"I am Nostroyev! Scourge of Siberia and Butcher of Alexander Palace."

A Russian vampire. Spike cocked his head and nodded.

"Uh huh. Well, Butcher, are you gonna move out of my way or what?"

"It is common courtesy to introduce oneself," the vamp slapped a hand down on Spike's shoulder, the weight of it knocking Spike off balance slightly, "especially when the person you're talking to has told you who they are."

"I never asked for your name. I'm not in the habit of getting acquainted with people I don't plan to be around for very long. Unfortunately we're stuck together for a little while, but I don't see why that should make us friends. Do you?"

Nostroyev frowned and Spike rolled his eyes.

"Oh for pity's sake. It's Spi—"

"Where are the rest of the vermin?" a raspy voice hissed from inside the compartment. "I wish to maul more. The Prince of Lies demands the blood sacrifice he was promised."

Notroyev moved aside enough for Spike to see the ancient vampire he'd freed first standing there, rubbing his long, talon like nails together. He really was a hideous sight, older than Batface apparently, and more deserving of the nickname. It seemed he preferred to go by 'Prince of Lies' however.

"They've run off up ahead. We should go take care of them, make them pay for locking us up like filthy animals," came another voice.

A younger looking vamp stepped into view, though Spike could sense the power coming from him. It seemed Spike was the youngest vampire in the group then. Wonderful. So not only would he have to deal with over eager vampires intent purely on killing, but he had to deal with vamps that were older, more than likely stronger because of their age, and who would be unwilling to listen to him any more than they would a fledge. Perfect.

The vamp was dressed all in black, much like the Prince of Lies, but in more casual attire. His hair was short, brown and spiked up at the front, and there was something familiar about him, the way he acted and the way he moved, though Spike was positive he'd never met him before in his life.

"And you. I didn't catch your name yet either? Nostroyev said to the vamp, turning away from Spike enough to allow him to finally slip through the door. What was it with this guy and names?

"Not that it matters to you," the vamp said, fixing his collar, "but my name's Penn."

"Penn. I don't recall ever hearing your name," Nostroyev said, while Spike frowned, puzzled. Why did it sound familiar to him? He was positive he'd never met the vamp before but his name triggered some sort of memory.

"Well I don't remember ever hearing of you either," Penn retorted, and glanced off to the right. "Have you?"

"Not that I can recall. Scourge of Siberia? Can't imagine too many people cared about a wasteland like that."

Spike froze. No. It couldn't be.

A fourth vamp stepped into view from the shadows and patted Penn on the back while he stared up at Nostroyev, who was fuming at the slight against him. The Prince of Lies just looked on, seeming amused. Spike couldn't take his eyes off the vamp who'd just appeared.

It bloody was.

"Angelus."

His grandsire frowned and turned to face him. He looked Spike up and down until a grin spread across his face and he actually laughed out loud, much to the confusion of the others.

"Oh, this is brilliant," Angelus said, shoving Penn away and holding his arms out to Spike. "Of all the faces I never expected to see again. Spike."

Angelus took a step forward and pretended to pout.

"What? Aren't you going to tell me you're glad to see me?"