Xander, having lost his surplus fatigues since the previous year, had to go with his backup plan, also very generic but someone who could garner some more respect, if that were at all possible - a police detective. Sure, the Sunnydale PD was the most inept and incompetent in the US, perhaps in the world, but that wasn't to say that an actual good cop couldn't come out of their ranks or from their 'good' example.
He tugged on the blue windbreaker with 'POLICE' over the back of it, and then tucked away his normal kit of anti-vampire toys, even though both G-man and Buffy, though G-man, were sure that tonight was going to be 'dead' in the terms of action - better to be safe, than turned. That done, he grabbed the 9mm automatic toy gun he'd picked up earlier, his 'badge' and picked up a pack of smokes that most detectives carried in the movies, not to mention to turn off the quintessential cop movie, also his favorite, movie just as the catchphrase was uttered, and made his way to Buffy's house, making very sure that neither his alcohol-addled father nor his work-overloaded lawyer of a mother saw him go, as the former would raise a stink, as usual, and the latter would ask why he didn't want to go as a member of her own profession.
The trek was quick and the signs of a warm night were evident as he went to the Summers home, picked up Buffy and Willow, after flirting with Joyce, who was dressed as a sorceress, in front of said two companions, drawing the ire of the daughter of the mother and an elbow to the ribs from his best friend while getting a smile from Joyce. They made it all the way to the school where, after a quick talking to by Snyder the Troll, they were sent to their kids, where Xander took it upon himself to school them in the arts of sleazing more candy, an art they all too up with great relish.
Naturally, though, even with the promise of a quiet night, the Sunnydale version of Murphy's Law struck, and at that point Xander was able to see not only a bunch of kids-turned-demon running around, he also sighed out the most memorable words he could thing of at that point, the phrase that had made Bruce Willis a philosopher in his own right, "Yippie-ki-yay, mother fucker. Here we go, Xand."
Spike looked around at the chaos that had begun to transpire and felt a grin cover his face, "Well, this is just … neat!"
He held his head and slowly got to his feet, wondering just who in the hell he had pissed off in his past life to get stuck with such shitty luck - first, that Nakatomi building out in LA with that dickhead Hans Gruber, and then in Washington with his wife and those para-military assholes who wanted El Presidente from some butt-fucked island to come with them, and now this. "First LA, then DC and now here - I can't fucking believe this." He looked around, though, and then shrugged, "Trees still have their leaves - can't be December."
"Xander!" He spun around and leveled his Beretta 92F at the noise, though he was unsure why he had done so, and came face to face with a redhead in a leather bodysuit, who squeaked and hit the ground.
"Jesus Christ, lady! What the hell do you think you're doin' out here tonight?" He reached down to pick her up, but his hand passed right through her as she looked up and he jumped back, "Fuck!"
"Stop cursing, Xander!"
"Don't know who this Xander guys is, lady - name's John, Detective John McClane, of the NYPD." He spun around again and fired twice into a hulk of a beast that was bearing down on his, sending it to the ground in a motionless heap, "Now that you know who I am, who the fuck are you?"
"I'm Willow, and most of these people out here are just kids!" He turned back to look at her, but she beat him to the punch and passed right through his body, "I think we got turned into our costumes - I went as a ghost, you went as a cop and Buffy … oh God, BUFFY!"
"'Buffy'? Who the hell names their kid 'Buffy'?" He took off after the ghost-woman and even as a small mass of kids/demons came his way, he took off after her and hurdled a small can of trash, sighing as he did, "And we're off."
They ran down the streets, ducking the occasional 'kid demon', well, he ducked them, the girl ran through them, and they eventually came across this dark-haired girl in a funky dress, looked straight out of the last century or two, and she was screaming uselessly as several 'demons' went at her and then scurried back.
"Xander, those are REAL demons!" While he wished she'd stop calling him 'Xander' he raised his pistol and fired off a few shots that took the 'demons' by surprise and made them scamper off. The woman stopped screaming, looked at him, and then ran to him, hugging him while he tried to get away from her.
"Such bravery, I ask that you escort me to my father's palace, where he shall reward thee graciously … perhaps with my hand in marriage."
He finally shook her off, "Look, Lady Useless, I'm already married … well, separated, but Holly and I can work on that." He checked around them and saw that, for the moment, they were alone, "Yo, Red, where the fuck am I? Last thing I remember was walking into 1 Police Plaza back in New York."
"Sunnydale, California - you really don't know what's goingonheredoyou!" He looked at her oddly, but shook it off as she went along babbling, as he had better things to do - keeping them alive was at the top of that list.
"You are like no nobleman I have seen before, good sir." The Noblewoman came up to him and stroked his cheek with the back of her hand, "I can see within you a hardy stock, but you cannot possess noble blood with such uncouth language."
John snorted, "Trust me, lady whatever your name is, you haven't heard 'uncouth language' out of me yet, and for your information, I'm a cop, a detective." He reached into his pocket and found his smokes there, but without a lighter he could not light one up, so he put the pack back, only to find other things - a cross, some bottles of water, a wallet and a … "Stake? What the hell am I doing with a stake?"
"We fight vampires, er … Mr. McClane," the ghost woman said as she stopped for a breath. "Look, your real name is Alexander Harris, you're sixteen years old and I've known you since we started Kindergarden together."
John looked her over, "Right - are we shaking up together, at least?" She blushed and looked down, to which he snorted, "Of course not - weird shit always happening to me and I can't even get the girl." He reached into the back of his belt and pulls out a fresh clip, but frowned, "Hey, Red, where's there a gun store around here?"
The lights were off, the lock was shit and there wasn't a single camera in the place - John almost felt bad by breaking into the place … almost, but he needed more ammo and maybe something with some more punch, so he broke the glass in the door and opened it while ignoring the pair behind him.
"This is ILLEGAL, Xan … John!"
"The ghostly harlot is correct, you knave! I should have you strapped in irons and flogged until dawn."
He sighed, "Can't you shut her up or something?"
The ghost gave him a look that only his wife had ever given him, "You know, if I could TOUCH anything, I would have by now!"
Briefly, he pondered the benefits of homicide, but then realized that it would only work on the really annoying one, but then a thought struck him as he walked by a rack of hunting supplies, "I wonder if there's a good Catholic priest around here to exorcise her." He stepped behind the counter and grabbed four boxes of 9mm, 12 gauge shotgun rounds and several bandoleers for said rounds before hunting up several more clips for his Beretta - some weird shit was going on, the police were all suspiciously absent and with his past with holidays, he was just waiting for something else to go wrong, generally in the form of terrorists.
"Are you even listening to us, John?"
"Yes, I am, but I am also thinking ahead - where are the cops, toots? What else is going down? What the hell is the cause of all of this? Oh, and my personal favorite, the last two times I got involved in something like this, I ended up in the snow, barefoot, bleeding and with a lot of dead terrorists around me, so forgive me for being a little paranoid about all of this shit." He loaded the clips one by one, then tossed the remaining rounds into a pocket of a hunting vest that was going over a bulletproof vest the owner had in there, then started loading a cut-down SPAS-12 from behind the counter, "Gonna have to write this guy up - having things like this and being a civvie is very illegal." To punctuate this, he cranked a round into the chamber and set it aside to finish loading the bandoleers.
"Hey, I've seen the movies too, mister, and let me tell you that you're not all that, you know." The redhead was REALLY getting on his nerves, but then the first part of the sentence struck and sunk in.
"Movies? Look here, Flower, I'm not sure what you're trying to tell me right now, but I'm just doing my job here and trying to keep us all alive."
"Look, mister, for the fiftieth time my name's not Flower, not toots, not babe, sweets, not Red and sure as HELL isn't Casper or 'harlot'; it Willow, and trust me, buster, you're going to pay for that when this is all sorted out."
He pulled on the bandoleers and then looked at the noblewoman, who had been oddly silent, "So, what's your name?"
"Lady Elizabeth, and as you are a commoner, I demand that you use your musket to protect me."
John only snorted, "Lady, first I say we find the center of all this shit, then we find out how to stop it - I'm a cop, not a babysitter." With that said, John slung the SPAS-12 over one shoulder and walked out the door, "Can't even have a normal, fucking Halloween."
Vincent looked around at the people cowering on the floor and smiled, "Ladies and Gentlemen, I would like to thank you for your cooperation - I assure you that I would like to get out of here as quickly as you wish me to be gone. Now, I have it under good authority that this place has a rather large stockpile of money, and if I am told where and how to get to that money, my associates and I shall leave."
"Can we take one along for a snack, mate?" Vincent sighed and looked over at his partner of convenience, a vampire names Spike - he'd come across this sorry lot when some flat-foot was unloading shotgun rounds into him some minutes ago while a noblewoman and a ghost screamed at his side, and after distracting the apparently mentally-unstable officer, Spike had told him of the money, at which time they decided to steal it.
"Spike, once we have the money, you can do whatever you want with them, but until that time I ask that you curb your animal instincts." Vincent knew all about vampires, he'd run across them as he grew up, but he also knew there was something amiss in that his body was taller than it used to be, skinnier and his voice much, much higher - a quick search of his pockets had revealed the name Andrew Wells and a quick check in some reflective glass had shown that, indeed, he was not in his body. All the more reason to get this over with, "Now, where is the money?"
"So let me make sure I've got this straight," the cat-suited young woman said for the third time. "Geek-boy is the guy from the Die Hard movies, Lady Useless over is a noblewoman and you're a hooker/ghost, right?" John had to suppress a snicker and thanked whoever was in charge of this nuthouse that ghosts couldn't hurt people even as he reloaded his shotgun, "Am I the only one here who sees a problem with this?"
"Lady, trust me, after the shit in DC and LA, I don't ask questions anymore." He cranked a round into the breech and got off of his ass slowly, his ribs still a little bruised form the tussle with those things, "So, can you tell me what those things were?"
"Vampires, the walking undead, 'I vant to suck you blood, bleah!' and all of that crap, apparently." She snorted and took off her cat ears, "I knew Buffy was going to be trouble for my reputation, but this one takes the cake."
"She's asleep." This 'Angel' guy was seriously pissing him off with the over-protectiveness of Lady Buffy, not to mention the weird vibes he was getting off of the guy.
"Good, then you can stay here while I take care of a few things." John made for the door, but Angel stopped him with a clammy hand on his shoulder.
"Where do you think you're going, Xander? I'm not getting stuck alone with these three."
John shrugged off Angel's hand, "Look, asshole, there are other people out there who need help and I don't owe anyone here a damned thing, so back off - I'm a cop, I help people, part of the job and all that shit." He walked out of the door and skirted the street, noting that the demon/kids had all left for some reason - not wanting to waste good fortune, he went back towards the main part of town and started looking around for evidence of the anything really weird, as opposed to what he had seen that night, but came across something else that he didn't want to see, a dead cop, "Aw, Christ." The guy had been killed, obviously, but having his throat torn out, so he reached over into the car and grabbed the radio, "Dispatch, we have an officer down out in front of Harry's Hair Salon - he's dead."
After a few seconds there was a reply, "Copy that - who is this?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you - send the meat wagon."
"Be advised that we have a code 436 in progress at James Building in the business district - hostage situation in the business district."
John sighed - this just wasn't his night, "Copy that - SWAT enroute?"
"Negative - Detective in charge Stein has ordered the situation to be left alone."
John stared at the box and then hit the call button, "What kind of a fucking idiot is this Stein? Get his ass on the horn, PRONTO!" John sighed and got into the car, which still had the keys in it, before turning it over and driving off, having to leave the body on the ground, "This just isn't my night."
(AN: I don't know police code save for 187 - murder/homicide)
Frank Stein had been on the force for nearly twelve years, had earned, bribed and back-stabbed his way to the rank of Detective In Charge, and now someone who sounded like a kid was telling him how to do his job, "Who the fuck are you?"
"Someone who's going to put a pair of buckshot rounds in your ass if you don't get someone to that 436!"
Frank was literally shaking and could feel his blood pressure getting dangerously high as he thumbed the mike again, "I want your badge number, asshole!"
"F-U-C-K O-F-F how's that for a badge number?"
Frank turned to the dispatcher, who was apparently doing her best to cover a smile, "Where was the original transmission from? And if you laugh you'll be on night patrols for the rest of your life, bitch."
The woman held her tounge, as she should have, and replied, "Harry's Hair Salon, but the mobile tracker has the unit moving towards the building." She stood and walked off, but Frank heard her call him an asshole as she did, which got him to grin a little.
Suddenly, the sounds of gunfire came over the radio, "Officers in need of assistance at James Building, get off your asses and get SWAT here NOW!" With that, the connection cut off and Frank turned to his boss, who was openly chuckling.
"Is something funny, sir?"
The older man smiled, "Yes, Frank there is - there's a real cop in Sunnydale, who wants to do what his job statement says. To Protect And Serve."
Frank only snarled and stormed off - he had another murder to cover up ... a cop's murder.
"Another basement, John-boy - who'd you piss off to get you into another basement?" He'd tried the front, side and back doors into the building, but they were all locked, so that meant that the only way in was either to grow wings and try the roof or go through the basement, which had been left unlocked … which indicated either a trap or a way in or out for others. He'd taken care of that little problem by barring it, but how long that would last with demons on the loose was anyone's guess.
Shucking off his windbreaker, he adjusted the body armor he had on, thought this one was from the cop's cruiser and fit much better than the one he'd lifted from the gun store, and cautiously made his way with the shotgun present, checking all around until he found the one way in or out of the basement and going through it. He'd seen some weird shit in his day, but so far this evening, he'd seen enough to put him on the edge of a psych evaluation discharge from the force - demons, ghosts, blubbering idiots of noblewomen, an honest-to-fuck VAMPIRE, and a lot of things he didn't know what to call, but on top of that there were cops on the take and not caring when one of their own was killed, and that made John's blood simmer. He wasn't a Boy Scout, hell, he'd probably be the last Boy Scout on the planet, but one thing he was not was an emotionless bastard when it came to his fellow men and women in blue - someone would pay for this, and if John had his way, it would be the DIC Stein.
"Blood bag!" John turned and before he could thing there was someone on top of him and he pulled the trigger on the shotgun - the body of whoever it was muffled the blast and it was lifted off of him, flinging it to the side just enough to let John get to his feet. It was a man, one with a gaping wound in his chest, but also with fangs, yellow eyes and ridges on his face as he tried to get up, "You'll pay for that."
"Sorry, pal." Whipping out the stake the kid had brought with him, he slammed it home into the things chest on a hunch, and then winced as it turned to dust. "I left my wallet in the car." Knowing that the noise would bring someone, John took off towards the stairs and slowly made his way up to the next floor, which was home to a bunch of office cubicles and filing cabinets - tucking himself inside of one, he listened for a few minutes and, after hearing nothing, went about clearing the floor.
Vincent looked over at Spike, who was walking around and checking everything out with a worried air about him, "Is something wrong, Spike?"
"Yeah, mate, there is - got a funny feeling that we ain't alone in this building. Heard a gunshot a few minutes ago and … I don't know. Bollocks, I wish Dru were here."
Vincent sighed, "Spike, my gut tells me that something is indeed wrong, but with your four minions breaking into the vault, we don't have time for gallivanting off to find someone who may or may not be alive … or undead, for that matter. Remember the plan - we steal the bonds, we split it evenly, and then we go our separate ways." The vampire nodded and walked off, even as Vincent put his hand into his pocket and fingered the cross he had taken from the priest who had been there for some reason - he'd have to kill Spike, soon.
"Willow, will you PLEASE stop pacing? You're passing through the furniture and the walls way too much for it to even seem normal." Angel was glad to see the ghost woman in leather look up from where she had been thinking and then stop pacing, "Thank you. So, who'd Xander go as tonight?"
The redhead only waved absently, "A cop, but I don't think that he went as a specific cop, so one got stuck with him."
"And who would that be? I never quite caught his name."
"John McClane."
Angel blinked, "From Die Hard?"
Cordy looked up from where she was next to an unconscious Buffy, whom she had also put into that state after the noblewoman had gotten on her nerves, "Wait a second, you're a vampire but you know what Die Hard is?"
"Cordelia, yes, I am a vampire, but I am not dead to the world - I liked the first one, the second one was alright, and I hear they're making a third. What we do have to worry about is that if Xander is McClane, what's going to happen now that he's out there?"
Cordelia looked blankly at him, "What so bad about that?"
Willow looked at her, "Have you ever SEEN the movie? Trust me, John McClane can get into more trouble by accident than all of us put together, Xander included, could on purpose!"
"On your knees, blood bag!"
John silently cursed himself as he complied, the shotgun in front of him, empty with the breech open, and his service piece in the back of his pants, "Hey, guys, I gotta say this is one hell of a Halloween party. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were really vampires."
"Well, human, I've got some bad news for you." John felt a pair of hands on the back of his vest and was suddenly dragged up, spun around and came face to fangs with the ugliest son of a bitch he'd ever met, "We ARE vampires."
"No, what you are, buddy, is the victim of a tragic tree-cutting accident. You were walking under the ugly tree when they cut it down and it hit you good." The two other vampires that were with the one holding him chuckled at that, and John took his cue, "I mean, I though I'd seen ugly before, but you need to get some emergency plastic surgery of some kind - ass-face-ectomy, I think it's called." His hands went to the back of his pants even as the vampire holding him shook with rage and the other two began laughing harder, "I mean, not to be hurtful or anything, but when your mom gave birth to you, instead of slapping you on the ass, they slapped her. Then, to add insult to injury, the docs looked at you again and slapped your daddy."
The two vampires who were laughing fairly hard began howling and the angry vampire threw him a few dozen feet into a wall, snarling with rage, "You think you're funny, Human? Let's see how funny you are when I rip off your balls and feed them to you."
John snorted, "Please, my wife told me that when we got separated - and you want to know what? She was a lot more convincing about it than you were." Grabbing his piece, John brought it up and fired twice, hitting two of the vamps in the face, but the third shot was delayed by the barest fraction of a second, which was enough for the last laughing vampire to dive out of the way enough to catch the bullet in his shoulder - John had noticed that even though the vampires healed quickly, they didn't do it that quickly when he shot them, so he made them all count when he could.
"Hey, buddy, maybe we can work something out."
John arched an eyebrow as he staked the two fallen vampires, "Like?"
"What if I told you what these guys were after? Where they were and how many they had and all of that?"
"Keep talking and you might get out of this in one piece, pal. What's your name?"
"Jake, and I want your word!"
"I'll release ya, pal, now make with the info." John grabbed the shotgun and began loading the red rounds into the gun - he's found a box of them but only had about four slots open on the bandoleers at the time, so he decided to load two of them now as starters.
"Two guys up there, my sire, Spike, and a human, calls himself Vincent, but I saw his ID, name's Andrew Wells."
"What'd they hit this place for?"
"Bonds in a vault, I think."
John snorted, "Sure, why go for anything original. Hostages?"
"Twenty, or there about - all of them are high rollers or holy rollers, you know what I'm saying? So, how about letting me go?"
John stepped out from behind the cubical he had taken refuge behind and he walked up to the vampire, "Sure, thing, kid." He pulled the trigger and flames erupted from the barrel as the Dragon's Breath shell hit the vampire full on, "I'll release you."
Making a quick cross over his body, John made his way back to the stairwell, but stopped when he heard the elevator 'ding' and the doors began to open; out of the car came two old people, a few kids and a priest, all of them being herded by two vamps, who stupidly took up the rear, so John waited for them to get by and stepped out, pulling the trigger again and roasting the pair as the people screamed.
"Calm down, people, I'm a cop!" He was dirty from dust and sweat, had on his vest and a few weapons, so he knew they weren't going to shut up for a second unless he gave them a reason to, "You guys want to get out of here? Follow me, but padre, I need something from you."
Spike looked over at Vincent as the shotgun blast and screams echoed up the elevator shaft, "You were saying, mate?" Why he ever listened to the bloody prat was beyond him - he wanted to drain the bloke himself when the time came, but that's if whoever was on the floor below left them alive.
"Spike, in ten minutes we're going to have the bonds - trust me, whoever that is, is not worth the time or effort to go after." The whelp, Spike could see, was starting to sweat.
"Your precious little plan's falling to pieces, I see - what's your backup plan, mate? Mind telling me?"
"Not right now, Spike - I need to think."
Sodding prat - Spike hoped he was good and scared when he got drained.
Frank looked at the six people and wondered how he could spin it that he had saved them even as they spoke of a young man, a cop, killing things with fire and them disappearing into dust. For some reason, he knew this wasn't going to be his night.
John stepped off of the elevator on the top floor and wasn't too surprised to see a pair of vampires waiting for him, "Back off, boys - I just want to have a word with your boss."
"Well, ya got my attention, Mate." Billy-fucking-Idol walked out from behind a pillar and was smirking, "So, whelp, you're the guy that's been giving us problems all night?"
John shrugged, "Yeah, well, you limey bastards are so fun to provoke, you know? Still, what the hell do you want here? Nothing worth taking in a brokerage firm this small, maybe a few hundred grand, but those can be traced this day and age."
The bleached wonder smiled, "What makes you think I'm after money, mate? That's what my partner wants - I'm here for something else?"
John arched an eyebrow, "A nice eastern view?"
"Paperwork, you prat! There's some juicy stuff in that vault, and I want some of it as leverage against whoever runs this sodding shit-burg of a town."
Almost causally, John unloaded another fire round into the two minions, roasting them to their final death, "Look, I get that you want to fuck someone over - trust me, when this is over, some guy named Stein is at the top of my list, but I'm having a bad night, so why don't you show me the human asshole behind them, I arrest him and we call it a night, 'kay?"
"Bad night?"
"Two times before this, on or around Christmas, I've been shot, stabbed or otherwise bloodied, standing barefoot in the cold or otherwise freezing my balls off. Same story this time, different occasion."
The vampire snorted, "Bollocks, you have had a bad few, haven't you? Spike."
"John," he said, reaching into his pocket carefully and pulling out a smoke. "Want one?" Spike nodded and after taking one, John tossed the pack over, "So, where does that put us?"
Spike lit up his cigarette and shrugged, drawing in a lungful of the smoke, squirming slightly as he did, "Well, we finish our fags then we do this all proper like."
John grinned, "What makes you think you're going to finish your smoke, Billy-boy? It's blessed and you're drawing in the smoke …" John left it hanging as the cigarette dropped from the vampire's lips and he began clawing at his throat, chest and mouth. Almost as casually, he fired off a regular round of buckshot into the vampire, staggering him back, pumping the slide, and doing it again, over and over until they reached the back window, "Geranimo, mother fucker." He fired one last time, this one the final fire round, and blew the undead, burning fucker out of the building, "Gotta love blessed cigarettes."
"Yeah, they are fun." John spun around but found he was covered by a skinny geek in a dust-covered suit, "So, you're the guy who's been giving us problems all night? No much to look at."
"Says the geek in queer clothing." John tossed the shotgun off to the side, knowing he was out of ammo, and then just as casually took off the body armor, "So, I take it Spike's friends aren't with us anymore?"
"Nah, they couldn't hold themselves together. Vincent."
"Nice one, and the name's John, John Mc Clane."
Vincent arched an eyebrow, "The guy from the Die Hard movies?"
John snorted, "Apparently. Think I could some of the royalties?"
Vincent shrugged, "If you survive tonight, who knows?" Vincent then tossed the pistol he had been holding off to the side, "You know, it's been a while since I got dirty like this." He took up a boxing stance and jabbed a few times, "Maybe we'll see who the better host is?"
John didn't answer verbally - he lashed out with a kick that landed in the guy's crotch even as the door burst open at the end of the hall, a single man running down towards them as Vincent groaned on the ground.
"FREEZE! Sunnydale PD!"
John recognized the voice, "You're that fuckoff who wouldn't send the SWAT team - Stein." He wasn't much to look at as he stepped forwards and searched the geek over, pocketing whatever he could find, "You know, that's not proper procedure, right?"
"Fuck you, kid - I've done worse than this and I'm in this for one person, and that's me." Casually, he let the gun he carried drop down and he put four rounds into the geek, who jerked a few times but then fell limp, "Punks like you are who make this city a cesspool."
"Unlike you, Frank?" John turned to see a man in a nice suit standing there, "You just committed a few crimes yourself and have admitted to having done more."
"M … Mr. Mayor." Frank's face went pale and John took that chance to pull his own piece.
"Drop it, Stein - don't and I do us all a favor and shoot you." The cop turned back and the finger was on the trigger, but John never got the chance to shoot him - the man, supposedly the Mayor, brought up a snub-nose revolver and fired twice, hitting Stein in the chest and shoving him against the wall.
"Well, that was most unfortunate." The mayor then pocketed the gun, looking at him, "Now, son, why don't you put the gun down and we'll talk this out."
"How about I …" John never finished his sentence as a wave of power washed over him and he felt himself falling … out of the window … then he knew nothing.
Xander felt like hammered dog shit when he woke up - his tightly-bandaged chest hurt, his lower back hurt, everything but his ass hurt, and that was only because he couldn't feel it; to his left Buffy was snoring lightly in her sleep, to his right Willow was babbling in her sleep and in front of him was a letter on the stationary of Mayor Richard Wilkins the Third - upon that piece of paper were a few words, words that would shape his future, he was sure:
'FEEL LUCKY THAT I LIKE THE MOVIES, YOUNG MAN. FRANK STEIN DIED IN A TRAGIC SHOOTHOUT, ANDREW WELLS AS WELL, AND YOU HAVE JUST BEEN HIRED BY THE SUNNYDALE POLICE DEPARTMENT. GET WELL, RICHARD.'
Xander sighed, "Yippie … ki-yay, I'm fucked."