The explosion from the fourth floor shook the entire building, windows exploding outwards as the glass shattered and blew. Jagged shards of glass flew through the air, invisible against the dark sky, raining down on the black clad figures below.
As if time was standing still, nobody moved, struck motionless by the shock of what had just happened.
'What the f-'
Then the glass began to impact, not in small harmless fragments, but in long sharp chunks, crashing through the windscreens, piercing the bonnets and trunks of the cars below. As it started to land on the black clack figures surrounding the vehicles the screams of pain started.
'Aaaaarrrggh-'
'Mediiiiiccccc!!!'
'Get under cover - NOW !'
Blood splattered across the road as injured bodies began to fall, others diving for cover beneath the cars and trucks, no thoughts beyond shelter flashing through their minds.
Almost as quickly as it had begun, the falling glass ceased as the last of the window fragments landed. The sudden silence almost as echoing as the sounds of the explosion itself.
Immediately though, the silence was filled by the sounds of the wounded. The shards had decimated the ground forces, slashing arms, legs, chests and heads. Blood appeared to be pouring along the ground, black as the night sky, smearing all that it touched. The sheer quantity appalled those untouched by the disaster that appeared to have befallen them.
'Holy shit,' muttered Lieutenant Davis, the in-charge on the scene. 'Call back up - Now ! Get the medics, we're gonna need multiple ambulances. Call the hospitals, we're gonna need medics standing by for the wounded.'
'This looks bad lieutenant, really bad,' called his second in command, 'There's no response from 1st Squad, 2nd squad says 5 down, hurt bad. Third squad's still in the building on the second floor. They're holding position, awaiting orders - what do you want them to do sir ?'
'Shit, shit, shit... ok, tell them to hold position; do not advance. Repeat, hold position and do not advance until we figure out what just happened. Tell 2nd squad to secure themselves a safe spot and do not move unless warranted. We don't want to lose any more men.'
'Get the medicpacks out - see to the wounded right now,' screamed the sergeant to those around him as he reached for the radio set to send the instructions to the squads still inside the building.
Immediately the street exploded into action again, those still uninjured racing to those lying on the ground, reaching for their emergency medical packs as they ran. Morley and Conchis among those sprinting forward.
'What the hell happened man? I though this was supposed to be a routine drug bust ?,' shouted Morley as she crouched down beside one of the injured.
At the sight of the man in front of him she felt the urge to vomit almost overcome him. A splinter of glass had pierced the cornea of his eye, tearing it open. Several more fragments had sliced through his nose, lips and neck. The blood poured from his face, but worse, was jetting from the severed artery on the side of his neck.
Ripping her pack open, she grabbed the pressure bandages, tearing the packet open with her bare hands, pulling it out. Pressing the bandage against the gushing artery, Morley applied as much pressure as she could, to no avail. The blood continued to pour out of the bandages, seeping through her fingers, coating them red, the warm sticky feeling repulsing the young SWAT team member.
A gurgle sounded in the throat of the young casualty, the death rattle of a dying man. The flow of blood appeared to suddenly lessen as the pressure supplied by the pumping heart ceased.
'He's gone,' Morley whispered, quickly moving on to the next injured man.
<How could broken windows do this much damage ?> she thought, as she tended to lesser wounds of the next man.
Looking around she realized that the shards scattered across the ground and in the wounds of the injured were not simply glass. Inches thick, some of them, they were all razor sharp, not a single one without a cutting edge to them. Where they had made contact with one of the people on the ground they had sliced deeply, not impeded by the supposedly knife proof vests. They appeared to be covered in a slick, viscous fluid, and as she picked one, she felt in slicing through her skin, the blood oozing out almost immediately.
'Shit'
The sound of people calling out filled the air.
"Leroy's dead'
'Saunders is gone'
'Brenann's dead too - what the fuck is going on?'
'Lieutenant,' called the sergeant. 'Back ups on the way, ambulances are coming round the corner now - thank god we were close to St Mercy's, but there's something else sir....the casualties are...'
'What?,' screamed Lieutenant Davis at him. 'We've still got to deal with what's inside - its only fallen glass, how much damage could it have done ?'
'Sir, it looks like there's 12 down sir, and....they appear to be dead.'
'What ???'
'Sir, it wasn't just glass. It's too thick, too sharp and ..it looks like it was coated in something. It cut through everything, and everyone who was hurt bad has just.....is just....gone.'
The screams of the wounded faded as those critically injured stopped moving, and those only slightly wounded falling silent as their wounds were tended. Only the sounds of the approaching sirens now filling the air as those left standing turned to those in charge, their anger rising as they looked around at their fallen colleagues.
Just as their voices started to rise, another explosion was heard from the building towering over them, then another, and another. The sounds of the gunshots increased in tempo as those outside took cover behind their vehicles.
'What the hell?,' shouted the Lieutenant,' I told them to take cover - what the hell is going on in there?'
'Sir,' called his deputy, 'I'm hearing from the squads inside'
'Put it on speaker.'
'Lieutenant, we're coming under heavy fire inside, we need back up now! Shots on all levels sir, we can't retreat. I think 1st squad's all gone sir, and 2nd squads pinned down,' came from the speakers.
'What do you mean, 1st squads all gone?,' asked Davis, ' What the hell is going on?'
A crash sounded from the third floor, and the huddled troopers flinched reflexively.
'Aaaarrrrggggghhhhhhhh....,' came the screams as a black clad trooper burst through an intact window on the second floor, his limbs flailing as he fell.
THUD
The intact troopers flinched as the body impacted on the windscreen of an arriving SWAT van, the driver instinctively twisting the steering wheel, sending the vehicle careering against a parked car. The front corner of the van crashed against the trunk of the Ford, lifting the front end of the vehicle in the air. As itn continued forward, propelled by its own momentum, it slowly tilted on its side. The screech of the brakes couldn't stop the topple as it crashed on its side, sparks flying as it scraped along the ground.
'Look out,' shouted Conchis as he watched the van careering towards the control center.
The men surrounding the centre's radio and speakers scattered as the approaching van crash into their vehicle, the engine rupturing in a crash of metal on metal.
'The fuel's leaking, everybody out,' screamed Morley.
The rear doors of the van burst open as those inside scrambled to escape, their heads still scrambled from the sudden impact and flipping of their vehicle. As they sprinted clear, still clinging to their weapons, Conchis pulled the driver out through the passenger side door, desperately dragging him clear.
Sparks from engine landing close to the creeping fuel along the ground, the last of the support troopers sprinted clear just as a spark landed on the gasoline.
Time appeared to stand still for a moment, and then suddenly the fuel ignited, racing back along its own trail to the tank. As the flame entered the van, the explosion threw the vehicle yards into the air, flipping it 270 around to land on its roof, the sound of the explosion filling the air as the ammunition inside the vehicle ignited with the heat. Bullets rattled into the air and around the inside of the van, causing those members of the assault team still standing to dive for cover once more.
'Shit,' exclaimed Lieutenant Davis, ' I don't fucking believe whats happening here !'
'Sir, the men inside - what are we going to do ?', asked his sergeant, 'We can't just leave them there, we have to get them out.'
Suddenly, the air was filled once again with flying bullets, this time coming from the 4th floor windows, already blown out by the explosion that had triggered this catastrophe. Men already shell- shocked by what had happened in just a brief few minutes, already prone from the van's eruption, scrambled for cover once more.
'All units, advance on the building,' screamed the Lieutenant. 'We're sitting ducks out here and getting turned to shit. Sergeant, lead 4th and 5th squads up the rear stairs. Morley, sergeant Wilkins is down, you head up 6th and 7th squads and take the front stairs. Maintain radio contact at all times - with this many men involved we need to know where everyone is. Find 3rd squad and try to create a stable position on a lower floor until we get control of this situation. Conchis, take 3 men and get everyone back down the street, we can't afford any more casualties - we're in enough trouble as it is.'
The men poured into the building, as much to get clear of the gunshots overhead as to obey orders and storm the site.
The screams of the men already in the building could be heard over the radio headsets, the cries of pain and anguish sends chills down the spines of the entering troopers.
'They're not human, they're not human, it's the devil, it's the deviiiiil !!!....cluurghh.. Aaaarrgghh, help me, no, no, NOOOOOO!!!...'
The scream suddenly cut off with a wet squelch, only to be replaced by another scream as gunfire rattled from the floors above.
'Sir, what the fuck is going on here ? We're getting slaughtered !!,' shouted Morley through her voice mike as she entered the building,, directing her squads up the stairs.
'I don't know,' replied the Lieutenant, 'but we have no choice - we're getting killed out here, we have to take them out before there's no-one left'.
The last of the troopers ran through the narrow doors of the building's entrance. Their black masks expressionless, no sign of the panicked thoughts running through their minds.
<Fools>
The thought echoed through the mind of the dark clad man crouched, watching from the opposite rooftop.
<They have no idea of what they are dealing with and they're going to get themselves all killed in the process. Can't they see what's going on ? Can't they hear it ?>
An expression of pure pain flashed across the paint-streaked face of the brunette, the scar which slashed across his face lit up by a sudden unexpected flash of lighting. Drops of rain began to fall from the sky without warning, turning the already dismal scene in font of him into a one straight from a war movie.
The street was littered with bodies, those still alive cowering behind any shelter available, those dead left in the middle of the street as their would-be rescuers had had to dive for cover. The flames from the destroyed SWAT van lit up the street, illuminating the show of destruction, the red blood which covered the ground now appearing almost black under the sudden flash.
He watched as ambulances screeched down the street to provide cover for the men and women left lying on the ground, those troopers left behind trying to provide cover fire as the paramedics leapt from their vehicles, frantically loading the bodies onto stretchers and almost throwing them into the back of ambulances, desperate to get clear without getting shot themselves.
The sound of shots inside the building, the explosion of grenades and the screams, both of the wounded and the deeper sounds of their enemies, could still be heard, the sound never ceasing; each one being replaced by another, no two alike.
Without warning, as if he had heard an unseen signal or sign, the dark stranger stood up to his full height, the weapons strewn across his muscled body lit up by the now increasing flashes of lightning. Two wicked short swords hung from reverse scabbards across his back, the silver handles resting by his hip bones. Two Beretta 9mm pistols hung from shoulder holsters, appearing almost an after-thought when compared to the rest of his arsenal.
A row of what appeared to be miniature grenades hung diagonally from his right shoulder to his left hip, small slashes of blue and then white marking each in turn. Around his waist, a utility belt supported rows of magazines of various types, some silver, some brown in appearance and some unrecognizable to even the experienced eye. A garrote wire hung, supported by its wooden handles. Small throwing knives ran from small slots along his right thigh, his left covered by a large cross covered in emblems and writing..
Finally in his left hand hung a large silver and wooden crossbow with laser sighting - no antique as he had used in the past but a clearly hi-tech modern weapon of death. This was clearly not for use on a paper target, it was for serious purposes only. In his right was a cut off, double barreled shotgun, dangling downward without care.
His appearance seemed enough to make people run, even without seeing his dark, forbidding face, only a small silver cross around his neck provided any relief from this appearance of darkness and death. Not more than an inch or two long, only a tiny glimpse could be seen above his skin tight top.
With a deep breath, he lifted the crossbow, sighting across the street to just above the window on the 6th and final floor of the building. Exhaling slowly, he pulled the trigger, sending the silver bolt flying through the air and embedding itself in the concrete wall above the window.
<Time to get to work>
Without a word or a facial expression, he took hold of the line. Gripping it with one gloved hand, he slid towards across the street, no sound other than the friction of glove on steel. The slant of the line from his higher perch, where it was secured to an iron girder, was sufficient to provide him with enough momentum to sent his racing toward the opposite window.
As he approached the point at which line met wall, he released his grip on the line. For one second and then another, he floated through the air, not supported by the line, no safety net below, 6 stories up in the air.
Quickly pulling his knees up to his chest, pushing his head down to his knees, he pulled the trigger on his shotgun, shattering the tinted windows just before he crashed into them.
As he impacted through the window, his body reacted instinctively, rolling sideways even as his feet landed and his momentum carried him forward, the shotgun rising as he did so. Looking around at the empty room, he took a deep breath and then plunged forward into the darkness.
Morley slid upwards, her back to the wall as the squads advanced up the stairs, tension oozing from their pores. The sounds of gunfire and screams echoing in her ears as they reached the 1st floor.
'6th squad head left, check those rooms out, 7th squad stay with me,' she called to the troops around her, pointing in the direction of the closed rooms in front of them.
The team members quickly raced down the corridor, kicking in doors and exploding inside as they went, the tension in their bodies apparent as they entered each room, the occasional shot sounding out as the pressure got too much.
'Clear,' sounded the calls as they finished the sweep of the front rooms on the floor.
'OK, lets go,' she called out. '3rd squad should be on the next floor. Lets move it, double time.'
The crash of boots filled the narrow staircase as they stormed upwards, weapons ready. As they reached the fire entrance to the 2nd floor they paused, the noises from beyond sufficient to cause even the most strong willed to hesitate. Screams of pain filled their ears.
'Ok, on three, 1,2,3, go go go..;' she screamed into her mouthpiece as the troopers poured through the narrow doorway and into the hallway.
'Oh my god.....'
'Jesus help us....'
'Oh fuck...'
The bloody scene in front of them sent terror running through their minds. The bodies of 3rd squad lay strewn down the corridor, shattered bones, entrails handing out of eviscerated stomachs and the blood, so much blood. Two headless bodies lay half way down the hallway, no sign of the heads to which they should have been attached. The faces of those still attached appeared to hold expressions of sheer terror in their lifeless eyes. Despite the carnage however, there was no sign of what had done this.
Even as their eyes attempted to process what they were seeing, suddenly from the end of the corridor, at the entrance to the rear stairwell came the sound of screams of pain and terror.
'Oh shit, that's Gray's team - 4th and 5th squad,' called out the foremost member of their group.
'Lets go,' screamed Morley, driving her team forward. 'We have to help them and regroup.'
As they stormed along the corridor, members of the team rapidly sweeping the rooms as they passed, they reached the stairway doors. Crashing through them, triggers three-quarter depressed, their minds froze.
'This can't be, this can't be,' several of the squad were muttering.
What lay in front of their eyes was even worse than what they had just witnessed. Every member of the two 8 man teams hung from the stairways in front of them, gutted and stripped, their heads missing.
'How can this be?,' muttered Morley, 'We were only a few minutes behind them while securing the 1st floor. How could this happen so quickly?'
Suddenly two explosions were heard, one coming from just below them on the stairway, one coming from the stairway they had just come up at the front of the building. Flames started to lick upwards with alarming speed.
'Lieutenant,' Morley called into her mouthpiece, '3rd, 4th and 5th squad have been ...... massacred, they all appear to be dead. The stairways are on fire - unless you can get fire crews here fast, it looks like we're going to have to keep heading upwards.'
'All dead, are you sure?'
'Yes sir.'
'Ok. Morley, you now have full command of all troopers left in the building, and just one objective - get as many out alive as possible. Forget about the hostiles, if we have to we'll blow the building up, just get them all out alive - whatever it takes. We can't get any more back up in there. The helicopters can't fly in this storm so we can't get any troops on the roof, and the outside fire exits are trashed.
'Acknowledged sir'
'Good luck Morley'
'I think we're going to need all the luck we can get..'
'Ok guys, you've all seen the situation. We can't go back down the stairs, the fires blocking the way, they can't get more men inside to help us out. We're going to go straight for the 4th floor and see if we can recover any of 2nd squad that are still alive and then try to make it to the roof. From there we'll see what we can do. Stick together and watch each others backs.'
'What the fuck are we dealing with here Morley? What the fuck is going on?,' one of 6th squad almost screamed at her, the panic in his voice warning of a man at breaking point. He clearly wasn't alone in this feeling, most of the squads seemed close to snapping and Morley herself was rapidly reaching that point herself.
'I don't know, but at this point it doesn't really matter now does it? Now lets move !!'
The weapon strewn man rushed into the darkness of the 6th floor, his mind racing as he went. Suddenly a large figure rose up in front of him.
Instantly, faster than thought, faster than instinct, his shotgun rose and fired, exploding into the face of the being in front of him. As the trigger depressed, his left hand reached behind him and drew one of the two swords from its sheath.
The shotgun's explosive bullets slapped into the figure, blowing large holes in it.
To no effect.
The creature, and by now it was apparent that this was no human, laughed in his face. Worse than any demonic laugh from a film script, worse than any deep throated cry from a beast, the sound came out as a warm chuckle. The sound could have come from anybody, reverberating around the room in a rich, deep sound.
'You think your bullets can hurt me human? I am not of this world, I am not of your species, I am so far beyond your species that you can't even comprehend it, and we will kill you all.'
The contrast between the sheer pleasantness of the laughter and voice and the visage of the creature rising up could not have been greater. It gray flesh, green slitted eyes and spikes jutting along the borders of its eyes would have terrified any normal person, let alone the clawed, muscled, and spiked form of the rest of its armored body.
No one who saw the weapon covered figure of the man standing at this moment would have claimed he looked like a normal person.
Without a word, without responding to the creature with anything expect his actions, he slashed it across the face with his sword. Dropping the shotgun, he quickly reached for one of the throwing knives strapped across his thigh.
As the beast lashed forward with alarming speed, he span on his left foot, the short knife in his right hand slashing across the wrist of the beast, the longer blade in his left sliding deep beneath what passed for a rib cage and deep into its body.
<You may not be of this world, but a blessed blade to your keeza will still put you down, you piece of shit> he thought to himself.
<One down and 5 to go>
As he raced down the corridor towards the stairwell, he plucked a grenade from his chest and pulling out the pin, flung it back to the figure still lying on the hall floor. As he crashed through the doorway, the grenade detonated, not with a bang but with a strange splooshing noise.
As the holy water landed on the creature's exposed internal organs, the reaction appeared as if acid had been poured onto the wounds. The hiss of flesh disintegrating filled the air, the stench of melting body parts wafting outwards as the body fell apart. As the creature's torso crumbled into dust, a strange green glow filled the air, then with a SNAP!! The corpse disappeared, leaving only the stench and a brief charred outline where the body had fallen.
The green glow flashed brightly through the air, lighting the darkness for a brief moments, in which could be seen the pile of weapons, drugs and assorted criminal activities - the reason for the police raid in the first place.
The remainder of the assault team raced upwards, bypassing the 3rd floor, praying that whatever had decimated their friends and colleagues was not waiting in ambush. As they passed the entrance to the stairwell, Morley quickly threw an assault grenade through the glass, hoping that if anything was hiding in the darkness there, that the grenade would be enough to handle it.
From what else had happened that evening, she kind of doubted it.
'You and you, take the rear, keep an eye out for anything coming up the stairs, but do not, repeat, do not lose contact with the rest of the group. Do not engage unless attacked, we still don't know what the fuck is going on and we need to stick together,' Morley ordered the rearmost pair of the advancing group, thinking that it would make little difference to whatever would happen, barking orders on reflex now, knowing training could not have prepared them or herself for what was going on.
As they reached the 4th floor, the rest of the squad paused, awaiting the decision as to whether to continue upwards or to enter yet another floor.
'2nd squad, is anyone still there? Repeat, this is Morley, is anyone still alive on 4th floor?,' she muttered into her voice piece.
No answer.
'Ok, we're going to keep moving, there's no response for 2nd squad. 1st, 3rd, 4th and 5th are already down. We've lost too many tonight, lets concentrate on keeping moving and getting out of he....,' Morleys orders were cut off by the sounds of screams coming from beyond the doorway.
'Help me, oh please god help me, don't let them get to me, don't.....'
'Oh god, that's Steve Reynolds,' muttered one of the troopers, 'What the fuck could cause him to sound like that ? That bastard's not afraid of the devil himself.'
'Fuck this Morley, lets just get out of here now. Leave them, they're already dead,' screamed another trooper, several more appearing to agree with him.
'NO !! We are not going to leave them behind. Spread approach, Bullock, Richards, Kinley and Mutch, break left when we go through the door. Anderson, Simard, Travers and Haylis, break right. Smith and Jonas back up our rear, the rest of you stick with me, we'll take the middle,' she ordered. 'On three, 1, 2, 3, go go go...'
Smashing the door entirely off its hinges with two blasts from their shotguns, the troopers raced inside, breaking left and right as they went, their backs hitting the wall as fast as they could. Professionalism replaced fear, as their adrenalin rush was substituted with well drilled procedures.
As Morley barreled through the doorway, she could feel her jaw dropping. Instead of the narrow hallway with multiple doorways leading into smaller rooms, the entire floor appeared to one giant room, nothing but open space from floor to ceiling, back to front.
As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she realized that the openness wasn't entirely correct. The room was scattered with upturned furniture, tables, chairs, sofas. Glass appeared to be strewn across the floor, the remains of what looked like glass tabletops.
One corner of the room appeared to have been turned into a makeshift barricade, tables piled up haphazardly, broken plastic and steel chairs intermingled with them. It didn't look like much, and given the large holes in it, the poor appearance seemed to be an accurate reflection if its effectiveness.
'Anyone there?,' she called out, 'Is anyone there? Bullock, Richards, check it out, their radios might be down.'
As the two troopers reached the edge of the makeshift barricade, the sound of their regulation boots echoing on the wooden floor, they hesitated. 'Anyone there?,' one called.
'Shit,' the other muttered as he poked his head over the top of the barricade, 'They're all dead, lets just go...'
His words were cut off as his head exploded, the bullets crashing into his brainstem, tearing his face apart. His lifeless body held its upright position for an eternity before the nerve connection from the brain ceased and the knees crumpled. The body seemed to fold in on itself as it crashed to the ground, blood splattered all around.
Richards reacted on instinct, his face coated with the brains of his erstwhile partner, his helmet splattered with the blood and detritus that had flown through the air when the bullets had impacted. He rolled away even as he pumped shot after shot through the tables in front of him.
The rest of the squad began to pour fire into the barricade even as the shouts from within the makeshift fortress cried out -
'Stop, stop, it's us, it's Delares and Sams...'
'Cease fire,' screamed Morley desperately to the firing troopers, 'its 3rd squad, cease fire goddamnit !!'
The shots ceased almost as suddenly as they had begun, the troopers adrenalin charged bodies reacting to the order as if controlled by wire, their guns raising to the ceiling as they spun around.
'What the fuck is going on ?,' shouted Morley to the two troopers cowering behind the barricade, 'where's the rest of your squad?'
'They're dead, they're all dead. Those......things.......took them. They tore them apart and they'll be coming for us any minute. We built the barricade, poured hundreds of rounds into them, but it didn't stop them, IT DIDN'T STOP THEM!!!,' Delares voice sounded hysterically through the air, as his mind began to snap.
'Get out here now !,' ordered Morley, 'Both of you !!'
Delares scrambled over the tables, his body covered in blood splatters, his eyes crazed and wide open, sanity cleared taking a holiday. His helmet was missing, one ear half torn off, and the only sign of normalcy was the manner in which he was handling his weapon, pointed to the ceiling, away from the rest of the squad.
'Sams, get out here now,' ordered Morley.
'No good sir, I think he's dead,' replied Richards, eyeing the bullet ridden corpse lying over a broken chair by the wall. 'I think we killed him when we opened fire...'
'Fuck,' muttered Morley, 'Ok, that leaves the 7 of us, plus Delares. We have to assume that everyone else is already dead. Delares, DELARES - what the hell happened here, what the hell is going on? Who killed everyone? Why are there no bodies of the guys who attacked you?'
'Who? Guys? They weren't guys....they weren't even human...they killed them all. They just tore us apart, the bullets didn't stop them, they just kept on coming, they tore us apart !! They had guns and grenades but it didn't look like they even needed them. They blew out the window themselves, took out 1st squad in one go and then started on us. We lost radio contact at the start, haven't heard from 3rd squad for 15 minutes, couldn't get hold of the Lieutenant...... oh god, they're all dead!!'
'What do mean they're not even human Delares, get a grip of yourself!! Who did this to us? Where are they?,' replied Morley, desperately trying maintain control of herself and the others.
'I mean they weren't HUMAN !!! They're grey, got these fucked up eyes and spikes all over them and you can't stop them, you can't stop them, we have to get out of there, OH FUCK here they come....'
The squad whirled at these words, guns dropping from the ceiling, rising from the floor as they tried to make out anything through the murkiness. Three figures appeared out of the gloom, tall, too tall to be real.
The creatures weapons opened fire, taking out 3 of the squad in the first second, the rest of the team diving for cover, firing as they went, blasting away at the advancing figures. Their bullets struck home, the hundreds of hours on the practice ranges taking effect as they riddled the first figure, sending it flying backwards and the other two to take cover.
The room was silent for a moment, as the troopers looked at each other.
'See - bullets do kill the..,' the shouts of Travers cut short as the bullet ridden figure began to rise again.
'Oh fuc-,' screamed Anderson as the creature rose up in front of him. His screams were ended as a wickedly clawed hand slashed out, tearing his throat open in an instant. A second slash tore the head clean from his shoulders, the body toppling to the ground immediately as the figure grasped the head and flung it back across the room.
'Retreat,' screamed Morley, 'Get back out the door - now !!'
As the squad backed up, preparing to flee to the stairway, the sound of gunfire echoed behind them. A small explosion could be heard, and the bodies of the 4 troopers covering the stairwell flew threw the air. Or at least most of the bodies.
'Oh fuck - we're trapped...'
One of the bodies stirred, his shattered frame rising to his feet.
'Morley, the stairwells gone - these..things..came down from the 5th floor. They just blew us apart..'
'Take cover behind the barricade,' screamed Morley, 'we need to get some cover, no matter how little.'
The squad scrambled behind the inadequate shelter that Delares had just come from.
'Full fire - try and keep those things back. Even if we can't kill them, we have to drive them back, we need to buy some time until we get help!!'
The room filled with sounds of bullets and grenades as the 3 members of the squads and herself let fly with all the weapons at their disposal. The creatures attacking them appeared to ignore them, retreating backwards slowly, hissing to themselves as they went, throwing the severed head of Anderson between them like a football.
The sounds of gunfire from the 4th floor below could be heard clearly even on the 6th floor as he crashed through door to the stairway. The sound of his boots reverberated down the well as he sprinted down, taking three steps at a time, the weapons in his hands held loosely as he ran.
Reaching the entrance to the 5th floor he hesitated. The sounds of the shots and screams below calling him down, but his instincts calling him through the door. Peering over the banister, he could see the signs of explosion, the blood splattered across the stairs below. Further down he could see the bodies of what to the police assault team were 4th and 5th squads, hanging lifeless from the railings, their headless bodies covered in the blood still dripping from their necks.
His sense kicked into overdrive, as he sensed their presence behind the door to his side.
<Two here. Better take them out now before I go down>
Cracking the door open, he peered inside, dropping to his knees to reduce the chance of a clear shot at him. Seeing nothing but an open space, he flew inside, rolling again to his left, weapons still at the ready.
Suddenly, the gloom was lit by the flickering of neon tubes, their even glow interrupted by the erratic power, causing the room to be lit like a nightclub, the flashing lights first illuminating and then sending the room back into darkness.
<Hell, its just like that scene from Blade...lights, demons, death....Only difference is that I'm not Wesley Snipes and these aren't vampires...>
The two beasts at the far side of the room rose as he entered, the video game behind still flickering on the tv screen.
'Not again! Can't we finish one match in peace for Bezan's sake!,' said one of the figures, again surprisingly human in sound.
The brunette stood up, his blades extended. The flickering lights lit up the smooth surface of the sword, showing the strange words etched across both faces. He stretched into a martial stance, left leg extended, right leg bent. His left arm still held the sword, his right hand holding a throwing knife ready.
'Oh, so this human wants to play games then,' exclaimed the second monster, 'well I guess we can accommodate that, he can't be any worse than the rest of these 'elite' units!'
The two demonic figures stood up, reaching for their own blades, hidden under the cushions of the couch on which they had been relaxing. One held a brutal looking saber sword, black as night, and curved like a scimitar, the second holding a 4 foot long straight edged sword straight from a Robin Hood movie but far more menacing.
Kicking the table that stood between them and the motionless figure, still standing by the entrance, across the room they advanced. As the flying table struck the wall, it disintegrated, shards of wood flying in all directions, smashing bottles and glasses, sending pieces of glass across the floor.
The two figures strode across the room, separating as they approaching, splitting to the left and right of the still figure.
As they approached, one leapt forward, his broadsword slashing downwards with an overhead strike, while the second darted forward, his scimitar slashing sideways, aiming for a gut stroke.
Just as the swords were about to cleave the still figure into pieces, he moved. Barely shifting position, just a step backwards and to one side, and the two blades swished past his body, missing by inches. His face expressionless, his stance still unchanged, he stood there, waiting.
The two demons glanced at each other.
'What are you, boy?,' said one. 'Any normal human would be screaming now, as those below are. And no human could avoid those blows. Where are you from ?'
There was no response from the still figure, not a sign that he had heard them. Only a shift in stance as he smoothly slid the blades through the air in a weaving motion, the two knifes slicing the air as they moved.
At once they attacked in unison, one slicing at his legs, the other at his upper body, their weapons cutting sideways through the air. The speed of the attack was breathtaking, the sharpness of the swords edges appearing to slice through the atoms of the air itself.
It seemed that nothing could respond fast enough to survive the sudden assault, but just as quickly, the still figure reacted. His body spun in the air till it was parallel to the ground, his body separating the two slashing blades. One whipped past between his body and the ground, the other flashing in front of his face, millimeters from his nose.
As the blades flashed by, his body landed on the ground, still spinning as it made contact with the smooth surface. His own blades flashed upwards, the longer sword knocking the broadsword away, the shorter throwing knife driven into the foot of the second demon.
He continued his spin, turning it into a sideways roll, using his shoulders to flip himself upwards and away from the oncoming danger. Sprinting forward 2 paces, he then used his continuing momentum to somersault through the air sending him over a nearby couch to land 2 meters away from his opponents.
The two demonic creatures continued the spin of their blades, using the weight of their strokes to turn their own bodies around to face him.
'What the ....,' they growled, their voices moving from the soft melodic human tones to a much more bitter, gritty tone.
'He stabbed my foot ! That bastard stabbed my foot !,' the one with the scimitar roared.
'So ?,' growled the second, 'It's only a knife !'
A sly grin tweaked at the corners of the man's face, the first expression since this all began, the lop-sided smirk pulling at the scarred tissue on his face.
'Aaarrggghhhh..,' roared the first demon. 'It burns...it fucking burns....!!'
Pulling the knife from his foot, it looked in disbelief as it's foot hissed, the hole created by the blade being driven into the wood below widening for a few seconds, as if acid had been poured in. Then as the pain struck, it screamed in anger and disbelief at what had just happened.
'You're just a human ! How did you...'
Before he could complete the sentence, two more knives flashed through the air, ripped from their thigh straps by the mans gloved hands. As they flashed through the air, the demon had no time to react, nor even to think. Only a demonic roar sounded as the knives made contact.
They imbedded themselves in each of the creature's two slit eyes, burying themselves inches deep to the small hilt. Immediately, the eyeballs began to hiss and burn. Without another sound, the beast's knees folded beneath him, sending the huge frame crashing to the ground with a loud thud.
The first demon, still holding his broadsword in both clawed hands, roared as it charged, swinging its heavy blade in a figure of eight, trying to use its sheer size to intimate as is swung.
The man waited until less than a meter away, and then swung his own sword in reaction, even as his right hand unsheathed the second blade from his back. The impact of weapon on weapon filled the air, the crash of the blades together ringing out across the room.
The blur of the three swords clouded the air, the power of the demon enabling it to move it's heavy sword faster than any human could hope to do. The flickering lights overhead made the scene appear straight from the pages of a comic book, reflecting off the blades as they moved, sending glittering reflections across the visages of both combatants.
But as fast as the demon's broadsword moved, as quickly as it swung, sliced and hacked at its opponent, the two shorter swords wielded by the man were even faster. Deflecting the broadsword left, right, up and down, never letting it develop a rhythm or get even close to the body it was trying to destroy, the first sword appeared enough on its own to protect its bearer. But protection was not the intent - destruction was.
The second sword, held loosely from his left hand, as yet unused in this fight, suddenly struck forward, interrupting the pattern of its opponent. Slicing past its outer armored surface, the blade pierced its torso, driving deeply inside. Even as the demon screamed in pain, his first blade ripped the broadsword from his foe's grasp, the shock of his sword entering the body enough to weaken the beast's grasp on his weapon.
Releasing the hilt of the sword buried in his opposites body, he whipped around in a circle, his second blade now gripped tightly in both hands as he swung. The sword's smooth edge struck the demon as its head met its shoulders, slicing deep inside, sawing through cartilage and bone.
Continuing his swing, using his momentum and strength, he forced the blade completely through the beast's neck, severing the head in the process, sending it flying across the room, impacting with a sickening thud against the nearest wall, the green viscous blood splattering widely.
His face now coated with the demonic blood, he turned to the first demon, lying motionless on the ground, the two knives still sticking out of the open lidless eyes. Reaching down he pulled them out, wiping the sticky fluid off the edges using a nearby towel.
Even as he did so, he pulled another of the blue striped grenades from the row slung across his chest. Without waiting to see if the demon reacted to the removal of the hissing blades, he dropped the grenade into the demon's mouth, the pin spinning through the air in the process. Striding back to the door, the muffled explosion from the miniature charge was immediately overwhelmed by the sound of the flesh melting as the blessed water impacted on its demonic body.
As he reached the door, he was suddenly driven back by a wall of flame. Whatever was going on below appeared to have widened in scope, the stairways now appearing impassible.
Without any hesitation, he strode to the middle of the room, clearing a circle in the middle of the floor, throwing tables and chairs out of the way as he did so until a large space was created, free of obstruction.
Pulling a spiked device from his belt, he drove it through a crack in the floor until it had pierced all the way through to the other side. Sliding a narrow optic tube down through the narrow hole running through the spike, he fixed the tiny monitor to its end, creating a miniature view of the scene in the room below.
And what he saw did not impress him..
Morley and the three remaining assault team members crouched down behind the feeble pile of furniture, desperately trying not to lose their grip on sanity completely.
'What the fuck is going on? What are those things? Oh god, we're all gonna die,' muttered one of them, expressing the thoughts of all those left alive.
'If they come again, let loose with everything you've got! Don't let one of those things get its hands on you!,' called Morley desperately as the creatures began to approach.
Blasts from their shotguns flew through the air, perforating anything in their path, riddling furniture with holes, sending smaller items flying through the air, but to no avail. The creatures continued to advance, no longer carrying weapons, charging forward with deep throated roars.
Even as they reached the frantically firing troopers the ceiling exploded behind them, sending plaster and tiling smashing around the room. Their forward motion ceased as they spun around to face what had just occurred.
The 4 troopers watched in disbelief as the dark clad figure dropped through the jagged hole in the ceiling to land on a still intact table beneath him. His black streaked face and hair now splattered with the blood and brains of the demons killed in the room above, his half grin twisting the scar once more, he landed on the table. Resting on right knee and left hand, the other extended outwards pointing towards the remaining three demons, he appeared as vision from a nightmare - and not just to the humans in the room.
His swords both sheathed behind him, no weapons in his hands, he still appeared capable of untold destruction. His eyes appeared hidden behind a permanent shadow, no indication of emotion on his face beyond the twisted half grin - and that could mean anything.
'Who the hell is that?,' whispered Morley, trying not to draw attention back to themselves.
'What the hell is that more like it....?,' murmured Travers to himself.
For a moment the room stood still, every single being waiting for another to make the first move...and then suddenly the room erupted into violence once more.
Two of the demons raced towards the man crouching on the table, the third and last of them spinning around once more to face the terrified troopers cowering behind the barricade.
As the two demons rushed forward, their arms extended, jagged claws extending for inches beyond the end of what might be called their fingers, they roared; not a human sound at all this time, merely a pure demonic expression of rage and fury. The speed they moved at was breathtaking in its smoothness, but just as they reached the figure resting on the tabletop he moved.
Whipping both swords out from the sheaths on his back at the same time, he flung himself backwards, away from the wicked claws as they impacted on the table, shredding its surface and tracing through where his head was only moments before.
Continuing their forward motion, they smashed the table aside, shredding it in the process as they charged towards the now armed figure waiting beyond.
The troopers reacted in shock as the final demon charged toward them, firing as rapidly as their weapons could do so at the oncoming figure as it approached once more. Bullets filled the air again as they fired at the creature, desperately trying to fend it off for a few seconds or minutes longer. As the bullets impacted, they realized they were having no effect, not even to put it down as they had done one of its partners just minutes before. The beast seemed larger and even more terrifying if that was possible than those which it accompanied, silver streaks slashing across its face, making it appear somehow older than the others, and even more powerful.
As it reached the frantic group huddled behind the tables and chairs, it snarled as its hands reached out, grasping Delares and Haylis by the hair and lifting them away and over the barricade.
Morley and Travers ceased fire for a moment, trying to avoid hitting their partners in carnage, until the demon suddenly extended its jawline and, with jagged teeth, ripped out the throat of Delares, spewing blood across their faces, and spitting out the muscle and fat onto the floor.
'Oh shhhiiitttttt....,' they screamed, opening fire once more, blowing holes in Haylis in the process, beyond caring or rational though, no instinct beyond anything related to survival, if only for moments.
The demon threw the now dead bodies of the two troopers aside, not watching as they sailed 30 feet across the room, one crashing through a still intact glass cabinet, the bullet ridden body of Haylis flying out of one of the blown out windows to plummet to the ground outside, to the renewed horror of those awaiting the outcome of the battle. None dared approach the body, with all cowering at the ends of the street, not willing to risk their own lives for a clearly dead figure.
The demon turned once more to the last two troopers, the only two alive from the hordes that had poured into the building that evening. Extending its arms outwards to their full extent, it bared its teeth as it approached.
With oddly calm clicks, the weapons of Morley and Travers ran empty, the last of their already shared ammunition expended to no effect. The two could do nothing but await their fates as the creature paced towards them.
A sudden screech of pain and anger stopped its forward advance. Not from the demon itself but from behind him where the battle continued. Turning, it observed the scene in disbelief.
The two demons had continued their advance towards the unexpected figure, growling as they came. Stooping down, they had picked up two guns as they passed them, immediately aiming and firing, without pausing in their advance.
<Demons using guns - surely a breach of the rules> thought the man, even as he dived for cover behind a steel backed cabinet, allowing the rounds to bounce off randomly, sending sparks flying through the air. Whipping his pistols from their shoulder holsters, and quickly aiming around the side of the cabinet, he returned fire, not expecting the bullets to have any real impact.
Fortune had favored him. Even as one weapon ran out of ammunition, a bullet from his 9mm Berrettas struck the barrel of the second, twisting it out of shape and rending it useless.
The entire gun wielding episode having only lasted a few seconds, the demons had continued, immediately responding by grasping two machetes imbedded in the back of a chair, swinging them in lazy circles as they came towards him.
Exploding out from behind the cabinet, waving his re-taken swords as he came, the man raced towards them, still not making a sound. As he reached them, their blades collided, his twin silver blades clashing against the metallic machetes wielded by the demons.
The blades crashed against each other repeatedly, swinging in circles, deflecting the attempts at stabbing motions, sweeping aside the strokes aimed at slashing him open, his footwork a blur as he stepped forwards and backwards, left and right as his body slid away from the wild lunges of his opponents. Then, just as it looked as if he was going to be forced backwards, the scene changed.
He dived beneath the slice of one of the opponents, his left hand extending upwards as he went, burying the blade to the hilt upwards into the other demon, the sword cutting up through its groin and deep into its body. Deflecting the downward stroke of the wounded demon with his other sword, he shot to his feet and punched the demon in the face.
At which point his gloves came into effect.
Unnoticed until this point, each finger on the glove bore wicked spikes in the shape of a cross, the blessed surface coated with a fast acting acid to increase its effectiveness. As the demon recoiled, its face burning, its belly impaled in agony, he whipped the second sword around and once more beheaded a demon. This time the blade was not aimed at the muscled neck of his foe, but instead sliced straight through the middle of his face, an action similar to slicing the top of a hard-boiled egg. Impacting in the middle of the demon's nose slit, the sword sliced through as if cutting through butter. In an instant, the demon was down, blood and brains once more splattering all around.
The silver marked demon turned its back on the two remaining troopers, ignoring them as it paced towards the battle in front of it. Even as he did so, the remaining demon attempted to engage the human figure, slicing its machete through the air towards his head with all the power it could muster with its supernatural strength.
As the blade cut through where the head of the man was only moments before, the demon didn't even have time to realize that its particular fight was now over. As the man ducked beneath the blade, his legs outspread in a splits position, he had already withdrawn his first blade from the below of the now decapitated demon, leaving him with a sword in each hand once more.
Even as his legs extended to their full extent, the blades began their swinging motion. As the machete was passing overhead, each blade was slicing through a leg of the creature standing in front of him. As the blades passed through, the legs of the demon simply collapsed, sending it crashing to the ground, screaming in agony.
Continuing the sweeping motion of his swords, his legs still extended along the ground, he turned the direction of the blades from parallel to the ground to perpendicular, striking straight upwards.
As what had happened struck the demon, as it tumbled to the ground in the absence of its legs, just as quickly its arms were severed at the shoulders, the perpendicular strikes of the low down man impacting next to each shoulder, ripping the limbs from the torso with a spray of blood.
Still alive, the second to last demon screamed in agony before the human now standing in front of him. Without any change in his expression, the man reached down and picked up the demon's machete, holding both of his own swords in his left hand. Cleaving downwards with all his strength, he buried the blade deep into the brain of the creature before him, finally ceasing the annoying screams. Ripping yet another small blue striped grenade from his place, he pulled out the pin and buried it deep in the head of the demon, smashing his fist up to the wrist in the gray brain matter.
As he took two steps away from the body, the grenade denoted with another muffled explosion, once again starting the now familiar process of melting the body on which and in which the fluids were landing.
The room appeared to shrink, only the silver faced demon and the black-streaked man having any presence at all. Morley and Travis dared not make a sound, despite the questions running through their minds, not wanting to draw the demon's attention back to themselves nor to disturb the black clad figure who appeared to be the only creature capable of combating the monsters that had torn their friends and workmates apart like confetti.
As the demon approached the motionless but alert figure standing in the middle of the room, his eyes squinted, trying to make out the face of the figure in front of him through the dust and gloom of the battle just ending.
The fire coming from both stairwells was now the only illumination in the room, the electric power long destroyed in the battle and explosions. The flickering flames lit up the face of the man in front of him, for a moment bringing his features into sharp relief.
Brunette eyes, short dark hair cropped close to his eyes, paint streaked skin, all faded into the background as the demon's eyes fixed upon the narrow scar. It ran across this face, starting above his right eye near the hairline, cutting across the outer edge of his eye and then curving back in to cease at the edge of his lower lip. Not a wide scar, it could almost fade into nothing under normal conditions, but under the stress and situation it was present in, it appeared in sharp relief to the rest of his features, standing out against the rest.
'You !!,' the demon snarled. 'You look like ...... but you can't be him! They had him, and no-one escapes them! That scar....he had that scar before they....'
Without a word, without giving any acknowledgment to the words growled at him, the man reacted instantly. Pulling a throwing knife from his thigh with one quick smooth motion, he sent it flying towards the oncoming demon, the creature barely having enough time to deflect the knife before another was sent hurtling towards it.
A strange expression flashed across the face of the demon as it slapped aside the second knife and faced the man before him, responding to the attack with a vicious roar. With a ripping sound, spikes extended through its forearms, and its limbs appeared to grow even longer than before. Twin horns burst from its forehead, jutting outwards by several inches, and curling upwards slightly, away from its eyes. The spikes already extending out around its eyes lengthened and changing color, turning from a solid gray to a strange glowing shade of red. Its eyes also sifted color, transforming from the earlier green tint to flashing silver, matching the streaks which ran across it forehead and face.
Morley and Travers crept from behind the barricade, watching the scene in disbelief as the two combatants circled each other slowly. The entire room was destroyed, bodies, glass, and furniture strewn from end to end, bullet holes riddling everything in sight. The heat from the fire on the stairway behind them was driving them further in against their will, forcing them to get closer to the two in the center of the room. The flames at the far side of the long room were already licking inside, chairs already ablaze.
'If something doesn't happen quickly, we might survive only to get burnt to death anyway,' whispered Travers out of the side of his mouth.
'I'm aware of that, but what the hell else can we do - all we can do is wait,' replied Parker, studying the two figures in front of her.
The silver faced beast knelt down slowly, picking up the two machetes left over from the death of its fellow demons, swirling them slowly as it circled around the calm man facing him with twin blades.
With no warning whatsoever, the two charged at each other, blades whirling like a dervish, in a blur of metal. As the weapons came together and sparks flew, the beasts leg swung towards the man in a vicious round-house kick to the ribs, the jagged edges of his lower limbs making the maneuver even more dangerous. The man spun on his left heel, swinging his arm around to deflect the kick, not trying to block the leg it directly, knowing it would just shatter any weapon or body part in its path. His body shifted out of the path of the heavy leg, his arm forcing it to continue the spin, sending the demon off balance as the momentum of the kick carried it around.
The twin machetes continued their rapid swirling motion, fended off now by only the single blade and the motion of the man's body, while his other arm was occupied fending off the side kick. As the spin of the demons body continued, the action of the blades faltered, as they twisted away from their target.
Continuing his own spin, the man whipped out with his own right boot, crashing the sole against the side of the demon's kneecap, the gristly snap of the bone drowning out the sound of the fires for a moment.
The demon reacted by snapping his hand around in a brutal backfist too fast to avoid, crashing against the shoulder of the man to his side, sending him spinning through the air.
Showing emotion for the first time that evening, the man winced in pain as the spikes protruding from the demons fist crashed against his body armour, slicing open the first layer and wickedly bruising the flesh beneath. Red blood splattered through the air, splashing across his face, smearing with the green demonic blood already mixed with the face paint.
To Morley the effect was to make him look like a multi-colored face- painted child - if it wasn't for the dead expression in his eyes. No hint of emotion, of feeling, was evident in those dead pools. The brown globes looked as if they might be attractive under other conditions, on another man, but on this one they were wasted - any sentiment in them missing, torn out by ....what ? what could have caused such......
Her thoughts were interrupted by the next clash of weapons, the blades moving almost too fast for her eyes to follow. Only the injuries to the two fighters helped her distinguish what was going on, slowing them down slightly, just enough for the two SWAT team members to follow the fight.
Arms, knives, legs flailed through the air, every move designed to kill or incapacitate the other. The demon trying to use its superior strength and reach put all its efforts into each stroke, aiming to kill with each move, the man using his superior speed and skill to ghost his way out of the path of each blow.
The flurry of contact of blade on blade, body parts on body parts filled the room, neither combatant managing to make the fatal blow. Suddenly the two parted, a meter or two apart, neither moving.
The demon growled, its features twisting as it displayed its teeth to its enemy, the muscles in its arms pulsating and twitching, favoring its uninjured leg.
The man seemed to shrink inside himself slightly, his body gradually acquiring an appearance of shadow. His brown eyes appeared to sink into his head slightly as the shadows grew, and then suddenly they seemed to flash with a golden glow, just for a moment.
If Morley hadn't been watching his face closely, it would have gone unnoticed, but the flash of gold sent a shiver down her spine, even as the two fighters exploded back into action.
But this time it was different.
The demon moved in the same way, his speed beyond any normal person, his weapons and feet flying through the air almost as fast as her eyes could make out, slicing, slashing, and tearing.
As fast as the demon moved though, the man was faster, much faster. He moved as if the demon was acting in slow motion, like a scene from that old movie The Matrix. His arms blurred as he fended off the blows, his swords like two twin dervishes as they swirled around his body.
As quickly as the flurry of action has begun, it ended. Deflecting one slash of the machete, the man darted inward, burying both blades together, releasing the handles as he did so.
His arms continued their motions, deflecting the beasts wild swings even as the body of the creature shuddered. Dropping to his knees, he pulled two of the short blades from the slits on his thighs and thrust them deeply into the demons legs, slashing the tendons as they went in.
As the demon dropped to its knees, he span around it until he was standing facing the back of its head. Whipping the garrote from his belt, he twisted it around the demons neck until it encircled it, clutching the wooden handles at each end.
The demon screamed in agony once more and then spoke, its voice gravelly with blood, 'even if you are him, you won't last. They'll come for you again, you won't beat us all....'
The man twisted his hands suddenly, the magically enhanced wire cutting straight through the beast's neck, slicing through the bone, tendons and muscle even faster than his swords had severed other heads earlier.
As the headless corpse slowly slid forward and fell to the ground, Morley decided she had to move. Stepping forward, she was about to place her hand on the man's shoulders when a boot suddenly thrust backwards, straight into her upper body, breaking 4 ribs in an instant.
The power of the blow sent her flying backwards, crashing into the body of Travers, only his arms keeping her from crashing to the ground, as she stumbled back. Even as she did so the man spun, his hands pulling the Berettas from their shoulder holsters as part of the motion.
Before she could speak, before she could even blink, the barrels of the twin pistols were pressed against her eyeballs. The center of those tubes became her whole world, everything else immaterial, irrelevant. Afraid to move, to say a word, she could only focus up the tubes, seeing only her own death at the hands and guns of this man.
To have survived this evening only to die like this? Suddenly she spoke.
'Don't kill us, please,' she tried to sound authoritative, but knew she was pleading. 'I don't know who you are but don't kill us. We're the good guys...'
Still without speaking the man froze, the triggers already half- pulled, his eyes flickering from Morley to Travers and back again, before suddenly withdrawing the guns and re-holstering them.
Pulling back slightly he looked around at the bodies of those lying on the floor, human and demon alike, body parts scattered around, in some cased mixed together. A pile of human bodies lay in one corner of the room, their headless corpses piled on top of each other. A second, smaller pile of parts lay in the opposite corner.
Travers fought back the urge to vomit as he realized what those parts were - the heads of 3rd squad, hung decapitated from the stairwell they come up what seemed like hours earlier but was only a few minutes.
The flames coming from the stairwells were spreading into the room at each end, tables and chairs catching alight. It was clear that it would be only minutes before the entire room was engulfed in flames as they spread through the building.
The man pointed to a ladder lying on the ground by the side of the wall, looking up through the hole in the ceiling that he had created only minutes earlier from the floor above.
Travers let go of Morley, and sprinted to the wooden ladder, throwing his useless weapon aside as he ran. Grabbing the lightweight ladder in both hands, he dragged it to the center of the room, directly beneath the hole.
Pushing him out of the way, the blood splattered, weapon strewn man clambered up the ladder, sheathing his newly pulled blades as he went, not waiting to see if the other two followed. Only when he reached the top and pulled himself clear did he look down. Travers was pushing the wounded Morley up the ladders, the pain of her broken ribs slowing her down as she tried to pull herself upwards.
As she reached the top of the ladder, the man realized she would not be capable of pulling herself up without assistance and reached down, a soft sigh coming from his lips. As she reached up, Morley couldn't help but gasp in pain as she was wrenched through the hole as fast as he could pull her. Travers followed her up the ladder, leaping to grab the corners of the hole even as the flames began to lick up the lower rungs of the ladder. Reaching down, their savior pulled him up with one hand, no visible effort showing on his face as he lifted the 15 stone body of the trooper.
Turning without a word, he raced to the doors to the stairwell, hearing the footsteps of the two following close behind as he ran. Reaching the doors he slammed them open, looking down on the fiery inferno beneath him, and then upwards, past the entrance to the 6th floor he had entered to begin with.
Not hesitating, he raced upwards, the stumbling footsteps of the other two striving to keep up with his pace.
As they past the entrance to the 6th floor, the signs of death could be seen. The stench of the holy-watered corpse filling the air. Not stopping, they continued upwards to the entrance to the roof, even as the flicks raced upwards, the paint on the walls igniting as they went.
With the flames only inches behind them, he shoulder slammed the door, smashing it open with the weight of his body. As the pair behind him rushed through the doorway, the smoke and flames shot upwards through the gap.
'When the flames hit the chemicals, this entire building is going to blow,' called Travers as he supported Morley against his shoulder. 'We have to get off this roof before the whole place goes down..'
They sprinted to the side of the roof, looking down over the edge, and then across to the next rooftop. At least 3 meters - too far for them to jump.
Looking around the rooftop, Morley called to her only remaining trooper, 'Travers, get that plank - it's our only chance.'
Sprinting across the roof, Travers grabbed the length of wood, striving to drag it across the rough surface. Suddenly the weight reduced as the stranger picked up the opposite end and together they ran back across the roof.
Tilting the length on its end, they lowered it carefully till it reached the opposite rooftop, only inches to spare when bridged across the gap. Without waiting, the man sprinted across the gap to the other side.
The pair watched in disbelief as he ignored them to go first, then looked at each other again as they realized the reason for his actions. He was the only one of the three of them in good enough shape to hold the plank in place while the others crossed. Morley's broken ribs, and the bullet hole through Travers left arm, only now beginning to bleed profusely and hurt as the pain-overload of the adrenalin began to fade, would have prevented them from having the ability to do so.
Morley crossed first, her arms wrapped around her chest as the shooting pains ripped through her body, stumbling across, desperately trying to maintain her balance. As she reached the opposite side she felt herself being pulled the last yard, and then dropped to the ground. Travers followed quickly, supporting his damaged arm as he went.
As he reached the roof's edge and stepped down onto the tarred surface, the building they had just left shook with a series of explosions. A jet of flame erupted from the doorway to the roof they had just left, as the roof itself appeared to implode, falling down on itself. Further explosions sounded, each louder than the last until, with one final mighty roar, the building began to collapse around itself, spraying bricks in all directions.
As they watched in disbelief, the troopers finally relaxed slightly, taking off their helmets as they witnessed the grave of their friends falling in on itself.
Suddenly the man spoke for the first time as he caught sight of their faces.
'Cordy?,' he whispered as he saw her for the first time, her brunette hair and tanned skin lit up by the flames just meters away.
'What did you say?,' she called to him in her broad New York accent.
<Shit> he thought to himself <Why do I have to see them everywhere I go? What am I - stupid? Just couldn't keep my mouth shut could I?> as he turned away, his face a mask of pain as he strode towards the far side of the roof.
Travers and Morley raced after him, just managing to touch his shoulder before he reached the far side.
'Wait,' she called, 'I'm Sara Morley, this is John Travers - who are you? What happened here? At least tell us your name.'
'You wouldn't believe me even if I tried,' he replied in a low whisper. 'Just let it go and be glad you're still alive.'
He turned to face them and they recoiled at his expression. The pain and suffering etched across his features, written deep into his face without needing marks, appeared unbearable. Those eyes, no longer hidden by shadow, appeared full of pain, their soft brown pupils seeming to sear into their souls.
'What happened here tonight will happen again, and worse. It always has and it always will...and no-one can stop it'
'You did...,' she called, 'You stopped it.'
'And did I save your friends? I don't think so......', he murmured, turning away.
'Your name - at least tell us your name....'
The man paused for a moment as he stepped down onto the fire escape on the side of the building, hesitating for a moment. Then he stepped over the side of the roof, calling out softly as he went....
'Xander...'
The helicopters sped low over the tops of the huge trees, their twin blades sweeping silently through the air, the usual sounds of a choppers motion reduced to almost undetectability by the stealth facilities built into their design. Within each of the 4 choppers, the eight man teams were almost as silent as their transportation, breaking the silence only in hoarse whispers, any attempt at speaking in normal tones rendered useless by the winds rushing past them.
As they approached their drop off point, the red bulbs attached to the back of the pilots cockpits sprung to life, glowing an almost eerie red in the near darkness, their glows broken up by the protective mesh covering each of them, protection against accidental damage.
'I minute,' went the call from each team leader. 'Radio sets on, goggles live. Weapons are hot gentlemen, we've got a way to go and there could be anything out there.'
As the helicopters continued their progress, the men within them sparked into life as they completed final preparations, the hum of electronics starting up filling the cabins, sending a low pitched resonance through the air.
'Somebody wake up Commander Finn for gods sake,' muttered one of the soldiers in the lead chopper, snorting with suppressed laughter as he did so.
'I'm already awake, don't worry about me,' the still figure replied. As he came out of his meditative state, he felt his senses kicking back into action as his body started to move.
'I don't understand how you can do that sir. We've riding to a mission on twin fuel tanks, 30 feet above the tops of the trees, armed to the teeth and you sleep straight through it!,' the soldier exclaimed again. 'How do you stay so fucking calm? What are you - dead?'
<You have no idea> Riley thought to himself, smiling inwardly as he did so.
'When you've seen as much as I have kid, you learn to sleep whenever you can. Don't worry - ten more years of this and you'll be doing the same - if you're still alive that is...'
The soldiers were silent for a moment, looking at his serious expression, before one suddenly burst into laughter.
'Yeah, after what your girlfriend did to you last time you got caught with that stripper, Pete, I wouldn't give you another 10 months! If she finds out about the nurse as well, she'll cut your balls off with a spoon,' he called to the now red faced man, to the low chuckles of the rest of the team.
'Enough,' called the captain from his position by the side of the open doorway, looking down at the treetops rushing past him below. 'Twenty seconds. Fasten the lines and prepare to go.'
The click of the harness to the central bar running along the axis of the cabin's floor sounded in unison, the steel clips fastening in place at the captain's command.
'All units prepare to go,' came the voice of the pilot in the lead chopper, speaking now to all 4 helicopters at the same time. 'Rendezvous point in 5,4,3,2,1 - now'
As the four choppers stopped dead in the air in perfect formation, 32 lines flew out of the doorways of the cabins, the metal and fiber lines humming as they rubbed against the edge of the door rims.
The lines flung from the entrances were followed immediately by 16 green and black streaked figures as half the soldiers began their fixed line descent, sliding rapidly down the lines, the hand grips to which they clung whizzing as the lines span through the cogs which formed their central parts.
Even as the men cleared the lower edge of the choppers, the remaining soldiers followed almost immediately, sliding down the lines as quickly as those just seconds earlier. The bodies of the troops slid easily through the thin upper canopy of the treetops, then crashed feet first through the much denser lower branches as they approached the ground.
The first troops hit the ground, their knees bending even as they did so, absorbing the impact of their landings, releasing their handgrips as they leapt of the way of the second wave of troops descending from the sky.
As the second wave landed and also released their hold on the lines, the choppers took off as quickly as they arrived, the soft sweep of their blades and rotors unheard through the dense foliage.
The entire exercise had taken less than 30 seconds from the moment the helicopters had rocked to a halt, to their immediate disappearance, no final message, no further delay, as they disappeared towards the mountains in the distance.
The troops regrouped rapidly, an immediate check for injuries being free of incident. Quickly checking his GPS locator strapped to his right forearm, the captain leading the ground smiled at the accuracy of their drop off.
'Right on target,' he called out. 'Ok, Rodrigues and Sharp, take point, lets lead 'em out. We've got a full nights hike ahead of us and a tight timescale - no delays. Lets go.'
The small clearing in which they had finished up cleared as if by magic, the camouflaged soldiers fading into the brush which filled the gaps between the towering trees above them.
'Remember the instructions! Avoid contact with locals at all costs - we can't risk detection before we reach the facility, and we need to make the second target point before sunup to leave ourselves time to make camp,' continued the captain as they pushed through the greenery.
Several hours later, the forward motion of the troops continued, ceasing only to avoid possible contact with anyone outside of the group. The two point men signaling for pauses whenever a noise was judged sufficiently out of the ordinary as to warrant caution on their parts.
Till this point none of the short stops had discovered anything beyond animals feeding in the darkness, but the lengthy training of the men following meant they showed no signs of impatience at the repeated halts to their tracks, the cautiousness of the two lead men an indication of their professionalism.
The full moon overhead was just enough to provide some light to the soldiers as they marched, but not enough to be able to advance with only those rays to guide them. The dense canvas of the trees towering over their heads blocked out 95% of the light, only small gaps in the foliage allowing any light to the jungle floor.
The lack of natural light did not serve to slow the disciplined advance of the troops as they continued forward however. Their advanced night vision goggles illuminated the scene in front of them almost as clearly as if it had been day, only the green tinge caused by the light amplifying electronics signifying that it was still dark out.
Checking his hand computer again, the captain signaled a halt in their progress at an apparently random point in their trek.
'We've made better time than expected,' he called out. 'An hour till dawn...ok, get the covers set up and establish a perimeter. We're not moving anywhere till tomorrow night, so get going.'
The troops sprung into action as the captain beckoned his communications officer to his side. Reaching into the man's backpack, he pulled out a small rectangular pack, no light reflecting off its dark surface, as he pulled it open.
As the case expanded, a small computer screen could be made out, connected to a miniature satellite dish which quickly popped out to form a small bowl shape. Immediately turning on the equipment, the screen lit up faintly in front of the captain's eyes, its dim glow just enough to make out as the captain removed his goggles. As the request for identification appeared on the screen, the captain pressed his right thumb against the bottom corner of the panel. Calling Riley across to him, he watched as his second in command pressed his left thumb to the small square in the opposite corner.
No further identification required, he waited for several seconds as the connection between the small unit on his knees established the connection with the satellite high above, floating silently through the lower reaches of the night sky.
The unit hummed for a moment as the connection was made and a face appeared on the screen, the eyes of the uniformed man at the other end of the link widening slightly as he acknowledged the presence of the soldier.
'You're early,' he remarked succinctly to the captain, 'Didn't expect to hear from you for another half an hour..'
'Yessir,' replied the captain. 'We encountered less delays than expected enroute to the site sir. We are currently bedding in. The extra time will simply allow us to cover the site better sir.'
'Good work captain,' answered his opposite. 'Keep to the schedule and you should reach the facility by midnight tonight. Sun goes down around 6, leaving you plenty to time to make your approach in darkness.'
'I still feel it would have made more sense to approach in daylight sir. Even with our equipment, the darkness limits our maneuverability....'
'As stated in the briefing captain, we must ensure your approach and contact goes unseen. There would be enough trouble if you were found here, but if the facility is located in the process there will be more than just hell to pay. A secret US military facility in a friendly country's territory? No, the mission goes ahead as planned.'
'Have you heard from the facility yet sir? Do you have any further information regarding the situation there?,' the captain asked quickly to move his superior's attention away from his implied criticism of the mission's planning.
'No captain. There has been no further contact with the facility for 12 hours at this point, the last communication being the emergency pulse signal. You must continue as planned. Take all precautions on site until you determine what has happened. Commander Finn will provide you with further guidance on site.'
'Acknowledged general. We will contact you upon contact with the facility's personnel or sweep of the site. Ceasing transmission now.'
The computer shut itself down on these words, folding itself up without further attention by the captain, its automatic functions swinging into action without delay. As the unit shrank back to its original size, the captain returned it to the communication specialist's backpack, rising to his feet as he did so.
Flicking the switch on his night goggles as he did so, his eyes swept the area, observing the disciplined actions of the surrounding troopers as he did so. The area had been a hive of activity just moments earlier as the soldiers scooped out trenches in the dirt then covered them with the camouflaged canvases they had carried in with them.
<I still don't like this mission> he thought to himself as he watched his men setting up defensive positions, <and that bastard Finn sure as hell isn't telling us anything>
As the last of the defensive and camouflage positions was completed, the whole process having taken the men only minutes to perform all the various tasks, he signaled to the group.
'You know the drill, A Team takes first watch, the rest of you get some sleep. We'll be making rapid time tonight and daylight'll only be for 10 hours at this time of year. Teams will switch at 2 1/2 hour intervals by the mark, now settle in - there's only 40 minutes before the sun comes up and we need to be under cover before then,' he ordered, his exhausted troops dropping gratefully to the ground, worn out by the long hike through the dense jungle, the humidity of the air having served only to make their passage more difficult.
Twenty minutes later, most of the troops were already asleep, their bodies trained to take advantage of any opportunity to recharge themselves during a mission, leaving only the 8 man team around their perimeter on guard. The jungle around them quieter than normal, the movement of the men having silenced many of the nocturnal inhabitants.
The men within the perimeter slept shallowly, their training outweighing any feeling of safety provided by their comrades around them.
Even as they slept, Riley Finn was still awake, the troops surrounding his position in the middle of the troops not making him feel any more secure, thoughts running through his head.
<What the hell could have happened there?> he thought to himself. <It should have been totally secure for gods sake. Hell, I helped set up half the defenses myself, and we strengthened them even further after what happened with that bitch and Xan...>
His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a wet thud coming from the edge of the encampment. He could almost feel his ears pricking up as he lifted his head, his body tensing as he did so, striving to make out any sounds from the men in the area around him.
Pulling on his goggles, he looked around, trying to make out any sign of movement in the still darkness surrounding them.
A second wet thud sounded and then, before he could locate the source of the noise or react in any way, the early morning darkness suddenly exploded.
Shots rang out from two of the perimeter guards, bullets rattling from their weapons, only the silencers fixed to the ends of the barrels preventing the air being filled with the sounds of typical gunfire.
The bullets spat out in a twisting circle, their source still hidden by the camouflage of the outer guard units, designed to prevent their detection in the event of an attack. As the rest of the troops rolled out of their sleeping holes, grasping their weapons as they did so, the bullets from the two continued to fire.
The direction of the gunfire prevented even these elite troops from having time to react. As the bodies of the guards were spun around, their still firing weapons continued in action, even as they were turned to face their fellow troopers. The rain of bullets span across the group, still in the process of reacting to the sudden events.
As the bullets impacted on the bodies of the soldiers, they began to fall, the Teflon tipped special forces ammunition suddenly becoming a liability to the small army as they pierced the lightweight Kevlar armor covering their bodies.
In the space of seconds before the gunfire abruptly ceased, there was sufficient time to cause a swathe of damage through the middle of the group, several of the men falling immediately, dead in an instant, other dropping to the floor, blood spurting from smaller wounds. Most of the rest of the men dived for cover, their eyes straining to make out the cause of the sudden disaster, while a handful sprinted towards the positions of the soldiers from whom the shots had come.
As they reached the positions, they pulled up short, their weapons sweeping out as they took in the site lying in front of them. The bodies of the two formerly firing soldiers were pinned against the trees against which they had been sheltering, held up by their own black-coated knives. Struck dumb, the advancing soldiers could only look on in shock at the sight of their friends, the blood gushing from the entrance wounds of the blades, driven inches deep into the bark.
It wasn't the sight of their stabbed comrades-in-arms that pulled them up short. They were all professionals, had all seen years of service in special forces, had seen friends and strangers alike blown apart, shot and killed in multiple methods of death, but what lay in front of them shocked even their experienced eyes.
The two dead troopers had been completely gutted, their insides not just ripped open, but their internal organs torn out completely, and splattered for yards around, only the lungs of the men still inside.
'That's a fucking bite mark,' whispered one.
'What do you mean, that's a fucking bite mark? What the hell are you talking about?,' snapped another in reply.
Even as the rest of the group scanned the area, taking cover behind the nearby trees, the first man continued, 'Look at the lungs - those are fucking bite marks mate!! I've got half a dozen rotweilers, and I know when I see fucking bite maRKS!'
His voice rose at the end of the sentence, the impact of what he was seeing hitting home.
'What the hell did this to them?,' called another, 'And where the fuck did they gooouuurghhh....!!!'
The voice of the man was cut short in a horrifying gurgle as 4 hairy figures tore through the small group, racing between them on all fours, claws slashing outwards at random as they came, their fangs dripping with mucous and saliva.
The claws ripped through 4 of the men in an instant, each of the beasts tearing out the throats of a soldier as they leapt at them. Even as the remaining troops reacted instinctively, pulling on the triggers of their weapons, unleashing a hail of bullets at the creatures around them, the long-haired creatures continued their run.
Racing through the rest of the group, moving too fast for the turning figures bullets to make contact, they seized the last two figures, leaping up and gripping the men, two jaws gripping each. Their forward motion continued, dragging the men into the darkness with them, the screams of the soldiers echoing through the air as they disappeared from view, beyond even the capabilities of the advanced goggles they were all wearing.
Just as suddenly as it had all started, the action ceased, only the screams of the taken two filling the air until seconds later the cries ceased with a terrifying snap of bones as their necks were ripped apart.
The dumbfounded troupe, still reacting to what had happened, finally managed to regroup. Fanning out in a tightly packed circle, their weapons sweeping up and down, around and around, they created a full 360 degree area of cover, unaware that the danger had already passed.
Minutes later, the sun rose, penetrating the thin canopy in the area above them, lighting the scene fully in what seemed like an instant. The amount of light making it through seemed surprising given the depth of cover which had blotted out the moonlight during the previous night's hike, but the relief of the shocked soldiers was evident as they removed their night goggles to take in the scene around them.
'Sound off,' called the captain, trying to quantify the damage to his team, his mind reeling from the speed of what had happened.
As the men finished calling off their names and call-signs, the captain struggled to maintain his composure, as he realized that half the team had been killed in the space of what could have only been a handful of minutes if not seconds, without a single body of their attackers to show for it.
Four of the sentries had been taken out at the start, with the resulting spray of bullets killing another 6 of their own men, still rising from sleep. Four more had been massacred while checking the sentries, their throats torn out in an instant. Then the final two, perhaps the most shocking of the lot, taken from them by whatever had attacked them, pulled into the jungle in seconds.
'Captain, are we going to go after them? We can't just leave them out there...'
'No - they're already dead. We have to look after ourselves,' Riley Finn interrupted the questioning words of the soldier, his voice cutting across any response that the captain in charge might have made. 'Can we call out?'
The body of the communications specialist lay sprawled on the ground before them, the impact of the bullets that had riddled his back evident immediately. The shattered remnants of the satellite gear scattered across his body, thrown out of his pack by the force of the bullets impacts.
'What about the backup unit? That can't have been the only one?,' he continued, his eyes sweeping across the rest of the group.
'No,' replied the captain, 'But you're standing on what's left of the backup. It got trampled on when we tried to take cover - it's trashed as well. We have no way of calling out and letting them know what happened here. Now why don't YOU try and tell me what the FUCK just happened? What killed my men? What were those things? - and don't try and tell me it was a fucking puma or some other shit like that, 'cause I know damn well those things weren't anything from the fuckin' nature channel!!'
The captain's voice rose in volume as he finished his speech, his profanity increasing as his control threatened to fracture.
Riley was silent for a moment, looking around at the hostile stares of the men surrounding them, the bodies still tense and alert as they tried to watch both the area around them and their two superiors facing off in the center of the circle created by their bodies.
'I don't know what those things were,' he replied quietly, 'But!,' he interjected quickly as the captain and a handful of the men showed clear signs of disbelief, 'It might be connected with the place we're heading too.'
'What the hell do you mean "connected"?,' exclaimed the captain, 'You need to start telling us more about where the hell we're going and what the hell this mission is all about! This is no time for more of your 'need to know' secrecy bullshit. It can't wait until we get there - half my men are already dead and we've still got hours of travel to go before we have any chance of recovery. If those things are out there while we travel, none of us might make it - now start FUCKING TALKING!!!!.'
Spit flecked onto Riley's face as the captain thrust his face inches from his nose, his eyes wide open as screamed the last few words.
Looking around once more at the faces around him, seeing them turn angry as he watched, their rage and fear finding a focus at the man their captain was shouting at. The only member of the group not part of the regular team, the only man who seemed to have any idea what they might be facing, Riley was an obvious target for their rising emotions.
'OK,' Riley finally spoke out, not seeing any alternative to giving at least some kind of explanation if he wanted to keep his head.
<Hell, I might need them before the day's over>
'The facility we are heading to is a top secret US military facility, for obvious reasons, since it's in Mexican territory without their knowledge. The facility has various experiments underway at any one point in time, and no, I will not tell you what most of those are, the operation is classified well beyond your level of clearance, half of them beyond mine. A number of those experiments involve different creatures, none of which you would recognize, the purpose of which differ depending on the nature of the experiments.'
'And those creatures,' a soldier interrupted, 'are those creatures from this place? Are they??'
'I can't say for sure,' Riley replied, 'I've never seen them before, not even at this place, but since I don't recognize them from anywhere else, I'd have to assume that they came from there. How they got here, and what they are, I can't say. What I can say is that we should get to the facility as quickly as possible. I don't think they'll attack us in daylight, with the element of surprise gone and their vision compromised, but I think we should get going immediately. The faster we reach the site, the faster we can call for help. Plus the facility has secure defenses that we should be able to use to fend off any such assault tonight.'
'What about the bodies?,' a soldier spoke up. 'We can't just leave them here for those things!'
'We have to,' spoke up the captain. 'Commander' - he spat out the title as he spoke - 'Finn is right, we should get going right now. Collect all the gear that might be useful and lets go. We know the GPS co-ordinates of this site, we can come back for the bodies later, but for now lets move out !!'
The surviving members of the group scrambled to follow their captain's orders, collecting spare ammunition and weapons as they went till they were each carrying two men's worth of weaponry. Jettisoning anything they deemed unnecessary, which by now meant anything that couldn't kill or help kill, they started to move out, following the lead of Riley Finn as he strode rapidly away from the scene.
They left behind them a scene of carnage, bodies piled together, bullet wounds, slashed throats, and eviscerated stomachs still oozing blood even in death. The once green foliage now coated in places in thick, dark blood, the smell already drawing the flies and other insects which always flocked to death; small carnivores already preparing to follow, their fear of the creatures which had just passed through now outweighed by the scent of blood, drawing them in, their base animal instincts overwhelming their caution.
Even as the last of the soldiers passed well out of earshot, the hairy creatures returned, sending the smaller mammals fleeing from the scene as they advanced on the bodies. The group, now 7 strong, snarled and tore at the bodies, shredding them with their jagged teeth, tearing at the flesh, ripping organs from the soft innards of the torsos and gulping them down whole.
Minutes later, their stomachs engorged with their newly eaten meal, the troop slept nearby. Their bodies completely relaxed as they basked in the sun, making no move to follow the living soldiers, their energies expended for the time being. They could always track them later in the day.
If the marching group had known what was happening behind them, they might have broken completely, but fortunately for them they remained unaware of the meal being made of their fallen colleagues, pressing onwards as fast as they could.
The jungle air fell heavily on them, the humidity pressing down like lead weights on their shoulders, every stride taking more and more out of the troops than the one before. As they eased through the jungle they were forced to continually sweep the scene with their weapons, their nerves jangling.
At the slightest unexpected sound, one of the soldiers would open fire, the attempts by the captain to maintain order and silence overwhelmed by the sheer level of tension and stress filling the group. He himself was not immune to this - a small creature running across his path was blown into tiny pieces before he even realized he had opened fire.
Only Finn appeared unaffected by the tension, his figure alert but not out of control.
<If they had seen what I've seen, perhaps they wouldn't act like new recruits> he thought to himself.
<If they'd worked with the Initiative maybe they'd realize that there are many worse things in the world than what they encountered today - last night - whatever...>
Striding along, his two machine guns slung low at his hips, he continued his chain of thought.
<Fucking Maggie Walsh> he swore suddenly to himself. <If she hadn't got ahead of herself, the project could have continued there indefinitely - the hellmouth drew enough demons to make collection easy, but NOOOO, she had to build a fucking hybrid-machine thing and turn the fucking Scooby gang, Slayerettes or whatever they called themselves against them - against ME!!>
His teeth clenched even as he thought about it, his anger increasing, causing him to bunch his fists together as he crashed through the undergrowth, his mind turning in on itself as he continued onwards, his memories fueling his own rage as he went.
<And when I helped them take down A.D.A.M., did they appreciate me? NO - they treated me just as before, as just another member of their little group. Not a single one understood that I should have been in charge. I had the experience, the military knowledge, hell, I had the BRAINS to be in charge of the group. You think Giles should have stayed in charge? Hell, they ignored him from the beginning - the man couldn't enforce nap time at a kindergarten school... no wait.... bad example - those little bastards never do as they're told. That's it - he couldn't take charge of a raffle sale, no wait, that's another.....what the hell am I thinking about - Fuck Giles and his books, he was still better than Buffy. Perfect, saintly little Buffy, and her fake-blonde hair - no surprises to him there when he finally got her in the sack, even if it was with Faith's mind in charge. She thought she was so goddamn special, with her slayer strength and everything, doing whatever she wanted, ignoring procedures, rules, everything... just riding over his objections and doing what she wanted anyway, ignoring him, treating him like he was less than her. And that fucking vampire, Angel, she just couldn't let go of him could she, the bitch, flaunting him in front of me like that....>
<Still, even with all that she was better than those other two little pieces of shit, especially him!>
The name ran through his brain, round and round and round, <Xander, Xander, Xander, Xander...> till he almost banged his own fists against the sides of his head to break the circle of thought.
<Him and his friends always treated me like I wasn't good enough to join their stupid little group. That fucking lesbian always pretended that she liked me, claiming she was helping me get Buffy to go with me, that stupid fake shyness tricked me !! When it came down to a choice she took his word over mine in an instant, and then she had the nerve to sway Buffy as well !! and of, where her royal blondness goes, that stupid librarian just follows along like he doesn't have a mind of his own....typical fucking Brit, too stupid to wise up to how pathetic their country is now, just another little state with delusions of grandeur, caught in the past....mind wandering again, focus damnit !!>
Riley's expression appeared wild as he came to the final name in his thoughts, the tendons in his neck stretching as he fought to bank down his rage at the memories.
<Fucking Xander. Fucking Xander. FUCKING XANDER !!!!! He was responsible for it. He was responsible for it all.... If it hadn't been for him, I'd be on my way to being a fucking general by now, that bastard, not stuck out here in the middle of the jungle, having to force my way to a place I'd thought I'd finally gotten past....but noooooo, as soon as something goes wrong there, they just call me back up, like it was my fault the last time and so I should have to fix whatever it is has gone wrong this time !! Well it wasn't my fucking fault what happened last time, no matter what they said. It was all that bastard's fault, him and that bitch. Well at least they suffered before it all went to shit, at least she d.....>
His chain of random angry thoughts were brought to an abrupt halt as the group suddenly appeared in a small clearing, the facility straight in front of them.
<What the hell?> he thought <We're here already? Shit, must have tuned out for a while there - those bastards fucking up my concentration again goddammit!! Gotta focus, gotta stay alert now>
The 16 man team had reached the edge of the jungle, the join between its edge and the clearing where the building in front of them lay, ragged, designed not to draw immediate attention from any satellite photography from above, the camouflaged netting covering the entire roof surface in multiple shades of green and black, designed to appear like tree canopy from above.
From below though, it looked exactly what it was - a big sheet stretched over a low level building, clearly not the whole of the facility unless they were dealing with very small creatures and experiments. And judging from the size of the beasts they had already encountered, that didn't seem likely.
The sight of the building stopped Riley and the rest of the troops short. The main doors appeared to have been blown open with some kind of explosives, the outer windows shattered, their iron bars covering the front of them twisted out of shape.
Wisps of smoke escaped from one of the two windows facing towards them, seeping out from between the broken shards of glass still fixed to the frame.
Even as he studied the scene, Riley realized that something was wrong.
The doors.
They were blown inward.
And that meant......
that whatever had blown them open might still be out here !!
Riley spun around in a circle, trying to make out anything out of the ordinary in the jungle scenery around and behind him or near the building in front of him. He couldn't see anything, nothing but clumps of green and brown bark, and then....
One of the green clumps shifted, a face rising from its position against the ground, its scarred visage apparent beneath the green paint covering it from neck to hairline.
<Oh fuck>
That was the single thought that ran through Riley's head as the figure in the distance rose up slightly. He didn't consider a warning to the troops standing on either side of him, didn't point out the figure facing them, but just reacted on instinct.
Riley dived to the ground, his legs bending beneath him as he dropped. He could feel his body falling in the air, could see the walls of the building passing in front of him, everything happening in slow motion. Time seemed slowed down for an instant, the remaining soldiers not reacting, not having the time to react to what he had just done.
And then, just as time had slowed to Riley, it increased in speed to the rest of the group.
A bullet passed through the space occupied milliseconds ago by Riley, cutting through the area that had been occupied by his beating heart, and as it missed its target, its pinpoint accuracy ruined by Riley's reflexive action, it continued on its path.
Unfortunately for Sergeant Steve Wilkinson, that trajectory happened to coincide with his own beating heart, as he happened to be the soldier standing to the right of Commander Finn when the bullet passed through the empty space.
At least it was his beating heart, until his chest was torn out by the high caliber round that rocketed through the air, piercing his Kevlar armor as if he hadn't bothered to pull it on the day before; its high tech, incredibly expensive, state of the art fabric penetrated by the bullet which continued through to the other side of his chest and out of the other side, blowing a huge exit wound out of his right side and back, in sharp contrast to the much smaller entrance wound. His heart was simply vaporized by the power of the bullet, any other organs that got in the way destroyed as the cartridge continued its path through and out of his body.
He died immediately, his body shutting down all functions in an instant, faster than the message from his nerves could reach his brain to tell himself that he had been shot.
The rest of the squad didn't react immediately. The silenced shot not being loud enough to alert them at once, the impact of arriving at the facility after hours of hard slog through the jungle depths slowing down their trained reflexes, their adrenalin already drained from the events of the day, preventing any faster response at the sight of the diving Finn and slain Wilkinson.
For the man standing at Sergeant Wilkinson's side, none of this made the slightest bit of difference. The power of the bullet rendered any effects of shock or adrenalin-fatigue meaningless, as it blasted through the sergeant's body and continued in flight, its trajectory not altered by a millimeter on its path as it continued its propulsion.
The bullet, now coated in a slick covering of blood from the body through which it had just passed, span as it flew the short distance between the two soldiers. The speed and spin as it traveled through the air caused the blood in which it had just been coated to evaporate, the laws of physics taking effect as it went.
The squad was just about to react, still in the process of absorbing the visual information that had passed in front of their eyes when the bullet claimed its second victim. Striking the slightly stooping soldier just above his right eye, the bullet passed through and out of the other side of his head in less than the blink of an eye, the brain matter through which it passed turning into so much gunk in the process. Like Sergeant Wilkinson, he was dead without even realizing it, passing on to whatever afterlife might be facing him.
As the two now dead soldiers crumpled to the ground, the remaining team finally reacted, diving for the ground, taking cover in the trees from which they had just come, desperately trying to move their bodies away from the line of fire.
Even as they did so, Riley Finn had sprinted the short distance to the compound, diving in through the shattered hole in the doors, a second bullet missing his diving figures by millimeters.
The rest of the squad were not so fortunate.
Their muscles reacting to training, faster than mere instinct, they found cover, returning fire in the direction from which the initial shots had come from, riddling the green mound with their ammunition, shredding the green covered camouflage that had shielded the man from view as they had approached.
Their actions did not save them.
Even as the second shot had been fired, the man had moved, rolling his body away from his initial firing spot, over and over until he reached the cover of an upturned trunk, yards away from where he started.
Sighting through a small hole in the wood, he sighted on a crouching figure, and in one smooth motion, sent another cylinder of death spinning in the man's direction. Without pausing, without hesitating; without waiting to see the results of his shots, knowing before they made contact what the result of each pull of his trigger would be, he swung the long barreled snipers rifle across the scene in front of him.
Sighting without effort, he pulled the trigger again and again, again and again. Six shots rang out in the space of a few seconds, and with each shot, a man stopped moving, his muscle activities ended, no more thoughts capable of running through his heads If they hadn't made peace with their families or their gods, it was now too late.
In the blink of an eye, the 16 men remaining from the earlier catastrophe was reduced to 8, one of whom was already inside the building, the one man that he actually cared about killing, the man who had.....
The last seven men still alive outside of the compound came to the same realization at exactly the same time, not hard under the rather extreme circumstances facing them. And that realization was -
<If I stay out here I'm a dead man. Got to get inside the building>
The survivors leapt to their feet and sprinted to the entrance in unison, their feet crashing with each step, hearts pounding, blood rushing through their bodies, carrying oxygen to exhausted limbs, one final adrenalin shot to the system in a last ditch effort to maintain their survival.
For four of the seven, that last adrenalin boost might as well not have occurred. Even as they pounded towards the doorway, the bullets were on their way, one targeted at each figure, aiming directly at their spines.
For Mark Saunders time appeared to have slowed, even as it had for Riley Finn just moments before. As he raced to the entrance, he felt rather than saw a bullet impact on a friend just a foot in front of him, felt another strike the body to his side and then he went down himself, crashing to the ground.
For the man sprinting in front of him, that was the worse thing that could have happened. The bullet that would have deflected in its path slightly upon hitting Mark's collarbone, that would then have just missed his own carotid artery, was instead sent on its way without interruption. It tore his neck open, ripping the artery apart and condemning him to his death, fortunately a quick death, his life's blood pouring out of his body in seconds. His mind shut down upon realization at what had happened and for the last moments of his young life, the soldier felt no pain, no suffering, a blessing compared to what his comrades had suffered earlier in the day.
Mark on the other hand was definitely feeling pain. Not the pain of a bullet blasting his body open, but the pain of a broken wrist, shattered with the impact of his body against the ground at full speed. The rock on which he had tripped was sent flying through the air as he scrambled back to his feet in a mad rush to make it through the hole in front of him.
Even as he made it through, feeling his arms torn by the ragged edges of the damaged doors, he saw a final soldier go down beside him, another body torn apart by those lethal spinning tubes which brought nothing put pain and death. Guns don't kill people, people kill people? Tell that to the weapon from which the death bringers had come, tell that to the bodies of those left lying in the dirt.
The three men still alive from the race to the doorway pushed deeper into the small corridor in front of them, driving Finn back in the process, their only thought being to get out of the sights of that lethal rifle somewhere behind them in the jungle.
Four left from the thirty two that had started the mission. Twenty eight bodies left on the path from the drop-off point to the doorway of their target facility, torn apart by monsters, their own bullets and then, when they thought they had reached safety, by a lethal killer armed with a hi-tech rifle.
The following thought flashed through the mind of one of those still in one piece, Bates -
<Can this day get any worse? Please god let me live? I just want to see my daughter one more time>
Images of a tiny blond angel flashed through his mind. Her squalling face moments after having been born, her first birthday, ignoring the gifts from him and his family in favor of rolling around in the wrapping paper the presents came in, the money spent on them wasted. Her third birthday, the first with friends, laughing at the clown his wife had hired for the occasion, her fifth birthday spent with just the three of them at Disneyland in Florida, his arms around his little girl, his lips pressed to his beautiful wife's. Her 6th birthday is just next week, our 7th anniversary the week after that, we're going on a second honeymoon.....
Bates' chain of thoughts ended, the images of a wife and child he would never see again the last that passed through his mind. As the grenade launcher sent a small projectile sailing through the hole in the entrance, his mind and body froze, the final picture of holding his wife and baby in his arms, watching the sun go down.
The detonation filled the space behind the entrance, the sounds of the explosion in the confined area blowing his eardrums. Even before the shockwave had time to reach him, Bates was dead, the metal fragments of the grenade ripping through his upper body and head, shredding it to pulp, not a recognizable feature left as the corpse was flung backwards by the shockwaves.
And then there were three.....
Xander rose from his crouched position by the side of a broken tree, the long snipers rifle carefully re-packed in its carrying case and propped out of sight. The short barreled grenade launcher dangling from his right hand, smoke whisping from the barrel as he held it loosely, ejecting the cartridge even as he moved, sending it spinning out with a flick of his wrist.
The impact of its fall to the mossy floor at his feet was drowned by the explosion generated from the grenade launched only moments before, the shockwave blowing back down from the corridor, sending the already damaged doors tumbling off their hinges, crashing to the ground.
He stood there for a moment, out of sight of the men still alive inside, the shock of seeing Riley Finn's face among the men at the site ratcheting up his tension levels.
<Riley Finn, I can't believe it.... Nine years since I've been here, and as soon as I find it, they send him back in to investigate. This couldn't have turned out better if I'd set it up like this myself....>
Moving smoothly across the jungle floor, he shifted to a position with a view through the doors, catching sight of the men inside scrambling through a doorway at the end of the hallway.
<If they think they can escape that easily, they've got another surprise coming to them> he thought darkly to himself, as he approached the entrance, senses extended outwards, aware of the animals in the jungle around him stirring back to life from their frozen stances, as the sounds of the action died away.
As he stepped through the shattered doors, he swept the scene with his eyes, taking in the four bodies lying in front of him, limbs spread wide in their death poses.
<Only three when I came in before. Must have caught another of the support team with that grenade before they made it through to the end of the hall. Good thing I only used a low-explosive round that time, wouldn't want to block my way before I finish clearing the place..>
As he walked down the narrow hall, his mind began to flash back, just as it had when he blew the doors open the last time, just hours before - the memories of the first time he entered this place burned into his mind even after all this time....
...his eyes span frantically in their sockets, the pupils dilated till they filled the visible portion of the eyeball, their normally soft brown shade now darkened in fear. The bruising around his left eye kept it almost completely closed, turning green and blue as the tissue reacted to the damage inflicted upon it.
He was strapped tightly to a sliding bench, some kind of examination table, all metal, smooth the touch. He could feel the cold chill of the metal against his bare flesh, as he lay there immobilized, the multiple white straps lashing him in place, preventing him from moving even his hands, the wrists and finger tied down also with some kind of strong tape
The drugs he had been repeatedly injected with had begun to wear off a couple of hours before, enough still in his system to slow his reflexes down, to prevent his eyes focusing properly, but no longer enough to dull the pain coming from his dislocated shoulder. The joint jutted out from the socket in which it should have been fixed, the men and women around him making no effort to assist him, to treat his injuries.
As he felt the table rolling along the ground, wheels rattling, he could see the lights flashing overhead, blurring together as he tried to focus without success. He could almost make out the sounds of another trolley being wheeled alongside, but the drugs made it difficult to tell whether the sounds were real or just a trick of his befuddled senses.
He knew he should be worrying about someone, someone close to him, but he couldn't seem to remember who it was. Images of a peaceful afternoon in a park seemed to float up behind his eyelids whenever he blinked, the faces of those with him blurred, like an out of focus film.
'That's it,' he heard a voice bark out from the foot of the trolley, feeling the jolt as the wheels passed over a bump on the floor, his transportation slamming to a halt.
Another trolley slid in place beside his and he could hear the figure beside him mumbling, no discernable words, just fragments of sounds in a soft female tone.
He tried to turn his head, electrical impulses firing in his neck. But even as he shifted his weight slightly, moving in slow motion, the twisting motion of his neck was halted by yet another strap across his forehead, preventing any movement greater than a slight tilt of an inch or so.
From the corner of his good right eye, he could just make out the edges of the body to his side, his vision blurring as he tried to focus. A glimpse of pale skin, a petite body, a wisp of hair, couldn't seem to make out the colour...
Even as his eyes squinted, trying to make out more detail, he felt himself slipping away, fatigue and the after-effects of the drugs causing his body to start the process of recovery by sending him to sleep. As he lost any focus, the light above his head splintered and spun as the elevator started its descent......
Riley and the remaining pair of soldiers scrambled down the stairway through which they had stumbled into, desperately making their way down the cold metal stairs, their boots clattering as they went, clutching their weapons in their. They made no effort to take a stand against their attacker, concentrating on getting below as quickly as possible
'Who is he?,' private Harrison asked breathlessly, as his panic ridden body forced its way down the stairwell, 'Who the hell is he?'
'Shut up,' snapped Riley, even as he ran, 'We have to get to level 3. The main barracks are there, and so is the first point of defense. There should be a security detail of 6 men there, and the only way down to the lower levels is by getting through there.'
'Do you really think they're still there?' the second trooper, Saunders, responded. 'For gods sake, you've seen the damage to the place, what that guy did...what if he's not alone? what if they've already taken the facility? We could be running into a trap!'
'Oh he's alone,' replied Riley, 'Xander wouldn't come here with anyone else, he's on a mission.'
'Xander?,' Harrison immediately responded, his breathing ragged as he ran, his injured ribs sending shooting pains across his chest with each step. 'You know how it is?'
'Oh yes....that's Xander Harris out there, a former guest of this facility. Guess he isn't too happy about what happened to him here. Too bad, he always did whine too much!'
'Sure as hell doesn't look like he's whining now!,' Saunders snapped out as they reached the next level down, the rectangular sign secured next to the door indicating the level to which they had descended.
LEVEL 3 : RETINAL SCAN REQUIRED TO ACCESS
The small screen beside the sign, familiar to all as a retinal scanning unit, lay dormant. Its security features, designed to prevent unauthorized persons from going any further was state of the art. No buttons to press, no codes to input, merely a curved shape flat against the wall.
All of this expensive technology was rendered pointless by the fact that the door it was supposed to secure was hanging off one hinge, the solid steel frame twisted and mangled, burn marks scarring its surface.
'Shit,' muttered Riley, 'He's already been here. We have to keep moving, if we can't secure this level we'll keep going down. The containment facilities are on the next two levels so we might stand a chance of holding him out there, especially if anyone else is still down there.'
They raced through the security room, the strong lighting filling the air with an almost harsh white light. Bullet holes were evident as they passed through, blood splatters streaking across the walls. The still bodies of the security detail could be made out only from the corners of their eyes as they ran through, not looking left or right as they continued, not wanting to witness what they all knew was there. One extended leg protruded from behind a green painted desk, causing the tiring Harrison to stumble to his knees as his feet skidded out from beneath him, the thin trickle of blood running alongside the leg just slippery enough to prevent the grips on his boots from holding him upright.
He slid forward a couple of paces, coming to a halt just inches from the lifeless face of a female guard, her vacant eyes staring motionless straight ahead. Saunders pulled him to his feet without stopping, dragging him onwards through the door that Riley had just slammed open, the commander not even looking back to see if they were following.
As the trio entered a second stairwell, and began to make their way down, the pain-stricken Harrison managed to gasp out the words running through his head.
'Why was he outside? If he's already been down here and killed everyone, why was he waiting for us outside? Why wasn't he waiting for us down here or already gone?'
'He was waiting outside because he knew we were coming. Communication only went down about 17 or 18 hours ago from what I was informed, and he knew they would send in a team to investigate within hours. He can't have had to time to finish exploring the facility in that time - not if he had to fight his way through. That's why I think there might be some left alive down here, not because he spared them but just because he hasn't found them yet. By waiting outside he could take most of us out even before we got inside the building.'
<Looks like you've developed some brains there Harris. Still haven't realized that you can't compete against me though have you?>
As they reached the next level, Riley started forward through the double doors, striding onwards even as the two accompanying soldiers' breath hitched at the sight in front of them
'Oh my god...........'
As Xander reached the end of the hallway, he paused for a moment, studying the ruined elevator car, his mind still in the past, lost in memories.
.......the elevator had dropped down and down, but in his semi-conscious state Xander was no longer aware, his sense of his surroundings almost completely overridden by a combination of pain, fatigue and the drugs. Without another sound he passed out, head lolling back against their restraints. At almost the same instant, the soft moans of the woman alongside him ended as she too passed out.....
The images continued to flash before Xander's eyes
.......with a jolt he was awake, no longer strapped down to a table, now resting on a white plastic chair, the sensation of the needle leaving his arm felt acutely as the counter-acting and stimulating drugs took almost immediate effect. He heard the footsteps of whoever had made the injection tapping away behind until, with a faint sound of a door closing, they ceased.
He lifted his head from his chest, his eyes squinting under the bright lights as they adjusted to the scene around him. A small room, perfectly white, covered in tiles on all surfaces, reflecting the white light that seemed to be present without any visible source. In front of him, filling one entire side of the room was a glass wall, darkness beyond it, the tinted window preventing him from seeing what lay beyond. His slightly befuddled mind took a few seconds to process what he was seeing and then, with a jolt, memories of another such place kicked in.
<Oh shit! This place looks just like the cells from the Initiative, the ones that were used to hold the demons. But the Initiative was shut down after what happened - we saw it close down! And Riley said.......Riley said......that there was no other sites.....and we trusted him.....>
Suddenly the tinted glass became transparent, allowing him to see through to the figures standing just beyond the glass, motionless as they studied him. As his eyes passed across the small white clad group before him, he almost groaned out loud.
<Scientists, more scientists, a soldier, more scientists, another soldier, more scientists... no wait! Back up....that soldier.....>
'Riley !!!!,' he screamed, startling all except the dirty-blonde haired soldier with his sudden action, 'You did this to me! Where am I? What the hell am I doing here?'
'Xander Harris, woken up at last have we?,' smirked Riley Finn, observing the young man in front of him. 'Where are you? - well I would have thought that was fairly obvious, even to you, but then again; you never were the sharpest pencil in the box were you? As for what you're doing here? Weeeeellllll, we decided that no-one really investigated the effect of those possessions on you did they? Figured since I was hanging round you guys all this time, I might as well be the one that found out; no-one else seemed to be interested.'
'You brought me here to find out about my possessions? What the hell is the point of that? I just have a handful of memories, the occasional reflex and instinct. I don't see why the Initiative should care about that...'
'Well then, I guess you were wrong as usual, and, oh, this isn't the Initiative, it's the Logan Project. Welcome to your new home Xander, make yourself comfortable,' Riley finished his little speech with a flick of his fingers. As he did so, the glass changed again, darkening back to its original color till Riley's figure disappeared behind it, the last he saw of him for a while....
The sight of the rows of containment cells caused Harrison and Saunders to catch their breaths, the glass walls stretching out on either side of the long corridor in front of them, the white panels that covered the floors and ceiling appearing to provide the light that illuminated all around them.
As they passed the glass walls, the two younger troopers couldn't help looking inside as they passed, trying to make out what was inside them. All they could see were huddled figures in those cells that were occupied, many of the cells bare and empty.
'Don't bother,' Finn called to them, 'Whatever was in them before is dead. See the red light flashing over each cell? That shows the nerve gas was released in each cell. At least someone down there showed half a brain when all this went down. Don't worry - the gas only lasts for a few minutes outside a nervous system - can't hurt us now. Anyway, this level only holds the less dangerous specimens, we need to reach the lower levels before you'll see anything too extreme.'
'How do you know all this sir?,' questioned Harrison as they strode forward.
'I used to work here,' he replied. 'I started in the project before this one, and just transferred across when it went to shit. Hell, I helped design half the security here.'
Latching on to anything that could distract him from what was happening, Saunders spoke questioningly, 'Went to shit? You mean this has happened before? Was it this guy, what did you call him? Xander Harris?'
'Xander? No, Xander didn't trash the last site, a combination of an idiot in charge started it off, and then his "friends" did the rest. At the time, Xander couldn't fight his way out of a paper bag, even a wet one. The entire site was raised when it all went down and the research transferred here.'
'And these "friends"? Does this mean we have to look out for something worse than him?'
Riley Finn nearly burst out laughing at this, a warm feeling spreading across his body, tingles of pleasure running through his fingers as he considered this for a moment.
'Look out for them? No, we don't need to look out for them here. The risk they might have posed to the project ended some time ago. You could say they are.....no longer a factor.'
The expression on his face as he spoke was enough to end the questioning of the two soldiers. The small twisted smile on his face was enough to give pause, but the slightly crazed tint in his eyes sent a small shiver down their spines. The commander's complete control that had been evident from the start of the mission, that had been the one factor preventing them from losing their own control completely, appeared to be absent for a moment, and then, just as quickly as it had appeared, the smile disappeared and he was back in control.
Reaching the end of the corridor, the three men continued down to the 5th level.
Xander finally started through the doorway to the stairs, shutting down his memories as he went, extending his senses in front of him as he calmly walked down the stairs, taking his time, knowing without even realizing why that there was no threat ahead of him.
His boots made almost no sound as they impacted on each rung, in sharp contrast to the sound generated by the other men moments earlier as they sprinted down the stairs, his impact resistant soles absorbing his weight with each step.
His appearance was changed from the dark ghost that had witnessed the death of over 50 policemen in New York just a month before; the black night garments he had worn that night replaced by green overalls, designed to blend into the jungle foliage where he had laid prior to both his initial assault and the later ambush of the support squads. As he made his way down the stairwell, he reached to his neck, unzipping the loose clothing with one smooth action.
The green streaked fabric fell to the floor as he continued onward, left unwanted on the stairs behind him. The action would no longer take place in the jungle, rendering the camouflage pointless in the gray and white of the inner levels of the building.
As the overalls fell, the outfit he was wearing beneath them came into view. His outfit beneath was non-descript, dark trousers, a faded gray t-shirt, and dark boots.
What he wore on top of his clothes could never be described as non- descript. Kevlar body armor covered his entire upper torso, lighter armor protecting his shoulder and elbow joints, the ringed ridges designed to create flexibility while providing as much protection as possible without inhibiting his movement. Similar padding covered his knees for the same reason.
A miniature computer unit was strapped to one forearm, the state of the art liquid crystal and plasma display dormant for the moment, its design giving no hint of its purpose or capabilities. A small black dot was fixed to the side of his lips, on the opposite side of his face to the long scar, his voice command connection to the unit by his wrist almost indistinguishable beneath the face paint that still smeared his complexion.
The state of the art capabilities of his body armor and computer were not what would have drawn the attention of any witnesses, were any witnesses still alive in the vicinity to observe him. What would have drawn their attention however, was the weaponry attached to his outfit.
Instead of the twin short swords that he had carried that night in New York, this time there was only one longer blade, this time running the length of his spine from the base of his back to the nape of his neck, its length limited by the need to allow flexibility for his neck and head.
<One day I'll try a sword like Wesley Snipes did in Blade. Don't see how the hilt didn't get in the way of his head movements though..>
Strapped to the three parts of his arms unoccupied by the computer were fastened three small guns, their shape designed to make use of an area of the body not typically used to carry weapons. The same shoulder holsters were present, this time filled with much larger pistols, the shape and size not fitting to any known design, custom made for the man who was carrying them.
Twin racks of grenades were strapped to his chest, forming an x with the center just below his ribcage. Each grenade smaller than standard, the same blue and white stripes were present, this time interrupted by an occasional dark red colored tube, these somehow appearing more threatening than the globe shapes on either side of them.
In his left hand he held the grenade launcher he had used to open the doors behind and above him, reloaded and ready to fire should he need it, dangling loosely at his side.
A similar utility belt as before was strapped around his waist, this time included a number of shells clearly for use in the launcher dangling below them. The uses of a number of devices on the belt remained unclear however, their appearance giving no immediate sign of their purpose.
Strapped to each thigh were wicked looking knives, not designed for throwing on this occasion, but clearly designed to carve whatever they encountered apart upon close contact. The same writing and etching that had been apparent on those knives and swords he had carried in New York could be seen on every metallic surface on his body - a mixture of crosses, language and symbols, blending together as if part of a flowing picture.
His lower shin bones were protected by what appeared to be shin-pads, interrupted by the studs that covered their outer surface, in the shape of large crosses that stretched almost from ankle to knee.
The weapon carried in his right hand would never fit a normal classification. Somewhere in between an automatic rifle, a hand held uzi and a normal pistol, the weapon fitted his appearance as if designed for him, which just happened to be the case. It wrapped around his fist, stretching past the trigger fingers to cover the back of his hand almost like a glove.
The final item, aside from the same gloves he always wore, was the most normal of all - a green duffel bag slung over one shoulder, slightly battered in appearance, but bulging with additional weaponry and ammunition.
Passing through the shattered security unit area, ignoring the bodies and debris scattered all around, he continued to the stairs at the opposite end. He was well aware of what he had passed through - how could he not be, having been responsible for it all in the first place.
As he reached the stairwell, pausing for a moment as he scanned the area to ensure no-one remained nearby, his mind took the brief pause as a signal to drag up his memories once more.......
......he had been in the facility for several months now, most of his time spent in his white room or in the simulator room, every movement tracked by several soldiers at all times. There was no privacy, no secrets, every minute of time spent under guard, every action he performed watched continuously, recorded for whatever purpose they seemed to feel they were trying to achieve.
Xander still didn't quite understand why he was here. It wasn't as if the two occasions he had been possessed had had much effect on his life afterwards. So ok, he remembered enough to steal the rocket launcher from Sunnydale's armory, and he had retained enough knowledge to organize the students to at least some success in the battle against the Mayor, but after that it had all faded away as if it had never happened.
For god's sake, he had nearly fried himself when playing with the damaged blaster they got from the Initiative, before Riley turned up and dismantled it in seconds! Then, when trying to show off his knowledge to Giles when they went out on patrol, he had humiliated himself when he couldn't even remember how to put the simple pistol together, having to get the Englishman to help him.
He wondered what had happened to the rest of the group in his absence. He couldn't remember quite how he had got here, the drugs that had coursed through his system having had the accidental effect of clouding the memories of what he assumed was his last day of freedom. He remembered being in the park, the whole group around him, an impromptu picnic spread out on the floor in front of him, gorging on Twinkies, much to the amusement of the rest, but what had happened after that was just a blank. The only thing he could remember was Riley Finn laughing at him, his fist heading towards his facec, shouting at him about trust and teaching him a lesson.
He hoped they were all ok without him, not really thinking they couldn't cope without him, the doughnut king, but knowing that he would have been devastated if any of them had gone missing and hoping they felt the same about him. Were they searching for him? Or had they given up by now?
He cut himself off from that line of thought even as he began it. He'd run through the same line of questioning with himself many times as the time passed and it never helped. Bringing up memories only brought pain and he was having of that already without creating his own.
The simulations didn't appear to be doing whatever the scientists were trying achieve. Every day he was taken to the room and strapped into the bodysuit. Then, using a mixture of the computerized goggles in front of his eyes and the soldiers available in the facility, they ran him through tests, scenarios, each one different from the last.
In some he was patrolling and fighting with soldiers in different terrains - jungles, deserts, cities....
In some he was out with the slayer, fighting off demons and vampires as they sprung from the darkness....
In some he was a policeman, storming buildings as part of an urban assault team, fighting drug and weapon dealers.....
In some he was on his own, dumped behind enemy lines, enemies on all sides, no weapons to fight with.....
In some he was the only line of protection against those attacking innocents, women, children, his friends.....
In some.......the list went on, scenario after scenario after scenario, all different, all the same.
Because in all the scenarios, one thing was constant....
He Died.
Whether it be shot by humans, shredded by demons, ripped apart by wild animals, or drained by vampires, the same thing happened each time,
He Died
Each day they forced him back to perform in their games, his wounds given no time to heal, scars forming over his body from the impacts, the simulations still involving real contact, only the killing blows being pulled. But every day,
He Died.
Then one day they didn't come for him, and he was left alone, his body given time to heal. He almost regretted the break in action, for the extra time gave his mind even more to run over what had happened to him over the time he had spent here.
He had nightmares now. Every night he reran his own death over and over, the scientists simulations having given him the opportunity to experience his death in almost any way possible. The technology they had used had made him feel his own "death", not just watching it, the computer connections to his body and head simulating every possible sensation.
He had "felt" the bullets entering his body, shattering bones, destroying organs, crippling him, paralyzing him.
He had "felt" the demons claws and jaws ripping and tearing at his flesh, pulling off his limbs while he tried to fight back.
He had "seen" his friends and relatives dying in front of him, over and over again, listening to them blaming him for their death, asking him why he had not done anything to prevent it.
He had tried, he had done his best every time, in every scenario, trying to do whatever it was they wanted. Not to help them or please them but simply because if he didn't do his best, it simply ended faster and he was just thrown back in again even faster. He could not stop them strapping him into the simulator, just as he could not stop what followed.
He had improved over time; how could he not? The experiences helped him to last each time a little longer than before, to fight off more opponents, to kill more fighting against him, but in the end the same thing always happened.
He died - and the scientists didn't seem happy about it. From the looks amongst those who supervised the experiment and the muttering of those who dragged him from cell to simulator and back, sometimes blindfolded, sometimes not, he didn't see their patience holding out much longer.
And he feared that when their patience ended, they weren't going to simply let him go on his merry way.
Two days later and he still hadn't been called back to fight, and the fear of what might lie ahead, of the unfamiliar, was starting to worry him more than that which had already taken place.
In the event, his fear was justified.
For although the next scenario was in many ways similar to those he had undergone already, his tormentors had come up with a new twist - a twist that changed his view of the situation completely.
Instead of being taken from his cell as usual, the soldiers who normally stormed his cell waited outside. For the first time since he was first exposed to the scientists through the glass wall of his cell, the window turned transparent, exposing those waiting for him and the figure accompanying them.
A figure he hadn't seen for months.
A woman he thought he might never see again.
He would rather he truly had died than have to see the girl he loved with all his heart in this place, with those who had caused him so much pain, her pale face downcast, almost hidden by the hair hanging over her face..
Xander's entire stance appeared to crumple at the sight of her; the straight backed figure he always tried to portray in front of his captives to avoid any sign of defeat, despite what he might be feeling, proving impossible to maintain.
For if she was held here as well, then who would be the one to save him? If she was working with Riley Finn to do this to him, after all their experiences together, then his heart would break from the betrayal.
The expression on his face reflected the thoughts running through his mind, his face like an open book to those who knew what to look for. Already pale after months underground away from the sun, he turned a chalk white as the blood drained from his face.
For worse than the ending of his hope of rescue, worse than the pain of a friends possible betrayal, fulfilling one of his worst nightmares, was the dread that she was being held here just like him.
Because if they were going to this much trouble just to try to bring out his lost memories or whatever they were, then what would they have done to test her powers?
What had they done to her?
And what did they have planned for him that needed her presence......
Riley Finn, Saunders and Harrison made it down to the 5th level, once again reaching the bottom of a stairwell only to come face to face with yet another damaged doorway. This time it wasn't the door itself that was smashed in, its solid titanium surface only marked with the odd brown burn mark. Instead, it was the wall beside it that had been blown open, once again proving the point that there is little point building an impenetrable door if you can just find (or blast) your way through the walls around it.
The hole in the wall was large enough that a small car could have been driven through it, had one made it down this far.
<Overkill much?> Riley thought sardonically to himself as they stepped through.
The level in front of them was clearly supposed to be similar to that of the 4th level which they had just passed through, the same containment cells and white surfaces filling the large open space.
The immediate difference of course was the bodies that also filled the area. Human, animal and demons lay sprawled along the floor, their bodies tangled together, different colored bloods streaking across every available surface.
'He killed them all,' muttered Saunders to himself, crossing himself as he did so.
'No,' replied Riley looking around him. 'See the lights above the cells? They're inactive, not even the green lights indicating the containment fields are still running. These demons escaped their holding cells, although how they did so, I'm not too sure. Shit !! If he cut the power to down here, there would be almost a minute before the backup would have kicked in and re-activated the fields. I told them this could happen, I fucking TOLD them., but no, "The power supply cannot be cut off from outside the complex Captain Finn!!". Morons..'
'So why didn't those upstairs escape? They were still in the cells weren't they?'
'Yes but like I said, they weren't the dangerous ones, mostly too stupid to realize what had happened. If those down here reacted the way I would have expected them too, they would have made it out of their cells before there was any time to set off the nerve gas....and most of the creatures on this level are extremely dangerous.'
'More so than the guy coming after us?'
Riley paused for a moment, his instinctive response to laugh at the idea cut short by the realization that after all that had happened to him, Xander might actually be as dangerous as some of the demons, changing his answer from a resounding yes to a more considered - 'Perhaps'
'So what killed them all here?'
'I'm not sure they were all killed here. The creatures that we encountered earlier ? They were most likely to have been held on this level. If they made it out, there's a chance that others did too. Take a look at the pattern of the bodies - it looks like when the fiends escaped, they went straight for the scientists already in the room. They wouldn't have stood a chance. See the bullet holes stretching here and here? The soldiers in the room must have reacted almost immediately - well trained. Looks like they took out a large portion of the demons before they were taken down themselves, not too bad. Still not as good as they should have done, if they'd followed my training manual, but they could have been worse.'
'If they were killed by the creatures, even if some of the creature escaped, then what killed the rest of them?'
'You have to ask? Xander killed the rest of them of course. The hole we just came through? - another of his little explosive blasts. I'd heard rumors he'd gotten good with explosives over the years. Guess he decided to put them to some use when he found this place again.'
The three soldiers reached the end of the long hall, their boots slick with the blood through which they had been forced to wade, efforts to avoid touching the bodies behind them complicated by the sheer number and volume of them. The door at then end of the hallway was open, held in place by a large bullet ridden body of a Ferangi demon, the shots having torn its chest apart.
Stepping through, the trio paused for breath, the effects of the long jungle hike combining with the attack by the entrance and the sprint down and through the depths of the facility.
'Ok, there's only 3 more levels below this one,' Riley filled the silence. The bottom one's the barracks and rec rooms for off duty personnel, 2 levels down are the offices, some additional tech labs and the communication room, and the level below this holds the simulator suites, training rooms and dissection labs. This facility isn't the largest we have, that's in Peru, but it's still one of the most up-to-date, even now.'
The three started down the stairs, their pace slowing as they caught their breath.
'Where are we heading?,' queried Harrison for the first time, until now having simply followed the man in charge, his soldiers instincts and discipline having kicked in automatically when their retreat began. 'We could have made a stand earlier couldn't we? If we keep going down we'll be trapped.'
'We need to reach the communication rooms on the 7th level,' replied Riley, the faintest of touches of scorn in his voice as responded. 'Our first priority is to try and get a message out to let them know what's happened here and see if he's accessed the hard drives. If he got into the mainframe, this isn't the only facility under threat.'
'You think he'd go after other sites?,' Saunders questioned.
'He wouldn't have to. All he'd have to do would be to leak the information out and they wouldn't last long. They'd either be torn apart by some of the larger demon clans or the governments of the countries they are in would take them over.
'Demon clans - what do you mean demon clans?'
'What the hell did you think was in this place?,' Riley replied sardonically. 'You've seen the things here, hell you fought against some of them this morning. You want to tell me you thought they were just some kind of animals no-one had ever seen before?'
'No....I don't know.....I just.....I thought......,' the soldiers voices petering out.
Neither of the two soldiers were truly accepting or understanding any of what was happening, their minds suffering from sensory overload, unable to continue with any logical line of questions. A part of their brain had almost taken over, the reflex area that enabled a man to continue past what should have been breaking point. They were following the man in charge of them, not really considering whether it was right to follow him or whether his arguments were making sense, but simply pulled along in his wake.
They passed the doorway to the 6th level, ignoring it even as they passed, Riley leading the way as they continued downwards to the 7th level where the communications equipment should lie.
As they reached the door, the first one they had found still intact, Riley could feel himself relaxing slightly.
<Doesn't look like he made it down this far. Perhaps there was simply no-one left down here to continue communications or there was a systems malfunction. If the equipment's still intact, I should be able to bypass the security and piggyback a message on the secondary military emergency signal. ...>
Following the chain of thought led him to the obvious conclusion - there must have been a reason why they hadn't sent such a signal, and that meant that the odds on any soldiers still being alive down were fairly slim.
<Shit>
<Well, the scientists don't know everything about the systems - I should still get a message out. They have to know who it is that's attacked the project. They have to know that Harris is still alive>
Reaching out, he turned the handle to the door, the main security features being on the levels above and to the smaller rooms within the level. Even as the door cracked open, and he started to push through, his instincts kicked in, saving his life for the third time that day.
The faintest of sounds from the other side of the door was enough to send him diving backwards, away from the door, releasing the handle as he did so. As his body flew, the rattle of gunfire filled the air, following behind the bullets which had generated the sound.
The door was perforated like a cheese grater, the thin steel layer on top of the wooden core being no protection against the heavy caliber fire pouring through it. Riley's quick responses had kept him from harm, but the other two troopers were not so lucky. Saunders took two rounds in his right shoulder, the bullets tearing through the multitude of bones making up the shoulder joint and collar bone, his weapon falling from his fingers as the nerve signals required to maintain his grip ceased with the destruction of the nerves. Blood began pouring at an alarming rate from the hole.
Harrison was almost as unfortunate, receiving a round to his upper right thigh which span him round in a fast circle, the large hole torn through the muscle immediately pouring with blood.
'What the fuck!!,' exclaimed Riley in shock.
<Can't be Harris, he's still up there somewhere>
'Cease fire, cease fire goddammit!!' he screamed at the door. 'We're the fucking relief team! What the hell are you doing?'
'Relief team?,' a quavering male voice sounded, 'How do we know you're not the ones who attacked us?'
'Because if I was do you think I'd be standing here talking through this door or would I be inside carving you apart?'
The sound of silence from the other side of the entrance was broken by the sound of a weapon falling to the floor, its metal barrel clanging off the metal grid on the ground. As it did so, the door was pulled open from the inside, a spectacled figure peering round the side, a mixture of panic and relief written all over his face as he stood up, fear making his body tremble in the process.
Riley stepped across the threshold, anger written across his face, ignoring the muffled cries of his two companions as he snatched up the rifle now lying at his feet. Pushing his way past the terrified scientist, he looked around quickly, scanning the area for evidence of further personnel.
'How many of you are still down here?,' he snapped out, tension still running through his body despite his apparent recovery of control of the situation.
'Just myself, and Dr Rhodes,' the scientist replied. 'We were the only ones still down here - we were planning a major series of experiments in the next couple of days, and the rest of the group was upstairs on level 4 when it happened.'
'The soldiers?,' Riley questioned quickly. 'Is Captain Stevens still here? Did any of them make it out?'
'I don't know,' the quivering man replied, 'There aren't any down here - all I know is that the ones who were down here ran out after telling us to stay put and we haven't seen them since.'
'They didn't stay with the satellite equipment?'
'Two of them tried, they were working at the computer when the attack happened, but something seemed to be wrong. They kept shouting that the system was down and that the signal wouldn't send. They said that after the emergency pulse went out the system wouldn't make the satellite link. After a while they said it wasn't working and went to help the rest of them.'
'They gave up? What do you mean they gave up? They're supposed to stay at their posts until they get the signal out.'
'I don't know, ok! All I know is that when they couldn't seem to do whatever it was they were trying, they said they couldn't leave their friends up there.'
'Incompetents!,' Riley nearly spat with fury at the lack of discipline of what should have been specially trained marines. 'They deserved what happened to them! If they'd done their jobs, maybe we wouldn't be in this position.'
'What happened up there?,' the soft voice of a woman sounded, as she came into the room from a doorway to one side. 'All we heard were some screams and explosions but that ended hours ago.'
Riley studied the new entrant, raking her from head to toe in moments, taking in every aspect of her appearance. She didn't look dangerous, at least from her appearance. A slender brunette with tanned skin, her black rimmed glasses and the tight bun of her hair added years to her initially youthful appearance, assisted by the starched white lab coat she was wearing. The sight of her sent an idea flashing through his head.
<She looks like.....maybe that could come in useful...>
'And you are?,' he questioned.
'Dr Marshall just told you - I'm Dr Rhodes. I'm heading the Phoenix project here ......well anyway, that's classified. You must be Captain Finn. I saw your personnel file when I first got here, but I didn't realize you'd be heading the relief team. I was told you were transferred off this project and its sister units.....?'
As she said this, a muscle on Riley's face started to twitch, her words bringing the same repressed rage he had displayed earlier back to the surface.
<"Transferred?" I suppose that's one way of describing getting thrown out of a project I'd been in from the start. Getting blamed for what happened. It wasn't as if I was even here when it went to shit. Just because.....>
Throttling back on his anger, aware that it would hardly help the situation if he lost his cool at this point in time, he replied with bite in his voice:
'It's Commander Finn now. In answer to your question, I was until I got called back to the center to head this operation. Something goes wrong again and after being out of project for years, they just order me back in. "You're best suited for the job Commander, you already have knowledge of the site Commander, the necessary clearance." Looks like they may have been right. You realize who it is that has assaulted this facility don't you?'
'No,' interjected Dr Marshall, 'The security cameras don't seem to working properly. We haven't known what's going on until you appeared.'
'Well doctors, it seems that a former subject of this facility has returned - Xander Harris.'
Dr Marshall didn't say anything at hearing the name, his slightly confused expression registering no familiarity at hearing the odd name.
Dr Rhodes on the other hand paled at the name, her knowledge of what had happened here all those years ago, the intent of the experiments performed on Harris and the resulting debacle which had ended a number of careers, not to mention lives, sending panic running through her system.
'Then we have to get out of here,' she gasped, her fear of the man on his way down outweighing even the shock caused by the events of the last 24 hours.
'And go where?,' sneered Finn, ' The elevators are shot, we had to make our way down by the stairs, going through the level to the cross- wells. The military unit that was supposed to be guarding the facility has clearly failed in its duty once more, just as they did the first time. No, we'll make a stand down here, try and get a communication out.'
As the discussion continued, the two forgotten troopers stumbled through the doorway, Saunders supporting his wounded colleague with his good shoulder, even as the bullet wounds to his shoulder continued to pour blood down the front of his uniform. Harrison was in little better shape, the hole in his leg also gushing blood, lessened now by the makeshift tourniquet created by his military issue belt lashed above the wound, his injured ribcage forcing him to lean against his colleague in order to maintain his upright position.
As he heard them come through the doorway behind him, Riley finally referred to the two who had accompanied him from the start.
'Dr Marshall, take charge of Saunders and Harrison. The emergency medical supplies should be in the case beside that unit, unless they've moved them since I was last here. There should be sufficient supplies to patch them up. I assume you do have some knowledge of human anatomy?,' he said, pointing to a large box fixed to the wall beside them.
Turning his attention away from the two injured men, leaving them to the tender mercies of Dr Marshall, he moved to the entrance to the communications room, punching in his 10 digit security number as he reached the key pad, his palm print and retinal scan being accepted at the same time.
<Still haven't changed it even after all this time. Guess my backdoor into the security system wasn't found after all>
He strode into the room, the female doctor trailing in his wake, looking at the equipment in front of him with an experienced eye. The machinery in front of him was clearly state of the art, in some instances beyond even that. Flat screens covered the walls, designed to allow multiple camera viewpoints at the same time, allowing different experiments to be monitored remotely while occurring at the same time. Indented touchpads covered marked areas on the work station tops, built into the desks themselves, their highly sensitive pressure pads replacing the keyboards which had still been in use when he used to work here, small voice command units next to each workstation to allow hands free control of the systems.
As he approached the communications sector of the room, separated slightly from the rest of the computer equipment, designed to limit access from the compound to the outside world, the doctor beside him spoke up, the nerves in her voice apparent as she spoke.
'What are we going to do if you can't get the signal going? That means we'll have to fight him, doesn't it? What chance do we have against him?'
At this, Riley's control fractured slightly, his pent up emotions leaking out at the sound of fear in the woman's voice, the thought of everyone being afraid of Xander really getting on his nerves.
'Against Harris? Please!! I knew him when he was just a civilian, and a particularly useless one at that. I was a hundred times better than him then, and no matter how much better he may be now, he'll never be better than me. You saw the results of the tests doctor. You saw what he was put through without achieving any results. You know what we had to do to get him to progress in the experiment don't you.'
'And I saw the tapes of the end as well Commander. I saw what happened when we.....I saw the results of your suggestion!!'
'Watch that tone doctor. It was I that brought him in to the Logan Project, it was I that made the suggestion that began the positive results, indeed, it was I that brought the woman that caused the success in the first place as well. I agree that my final suggestion may have triggered a result that went beyond our expectations, but remember that I was not present when it was carried out. If I had been the results would have been very different, no matter what the review board said.'
His memories carried him back to meeting that had taken place in the nearby conference room.
.....the raised voices reverberated across the long table that filled the center of the room, signs of tension in some of those, tinges of disinterest and boredom in others.
'We've been conducting the experiment now for 8 months, and you've all seen the results so far,' stated one of the scientists assembled there, 'Negligible!! We've wasted all this time, manpower and equipment to no useful purpose whatsoever. The subject still shows no signs of recovering the memories and experiences of the two reported possessions. Any improvement in his fighting ability has been the result of continuous exposure in the simulator, and even that has been below what you would have expected from a trained soldier. This project is a failure and I recommend that it be terminated !!'
'We could still find a way to recover his memories,' pleaded one of the scientists running the experiment. 'We just have to find the correct trigger that will initiate them. If we can prove that the personas of someone has been possessed and returned can be retrieved, then we can use this in the Phoenix project. What could be any easier way to instill skills and instincts in a soldier than to implant him with those already experienced?'
'We are aware of the experiments purpose Dr Platt. You've been running scenarios for all this time, what makes you think there is such a trigger? You've killed him repeatedly, you've shown his friends and family dying in front of him and in his arms. You've beaten him to a pulp and still had no success. The hypnotism didn't work, the drugs didn't work - what else is there left to try?'
The scientists working on the project fell silent. This had been discussed between them in the recent past as the repeated failure of their attempts had begun to wear on even the most optimistic. None spoke up in response to the question, all apparent avenues had already been tried.
Riley Finn had watched the discussion from the corner of the room, his presence tolerated only on two grounds; his prior experience in the Initiative; and the fact that he was responsible for bringing the subject both to the attention of the Logan Project, and then, when they expressed interest, for bringing Harris to the facility in the first place.
As he watched the scientists who were heading the experiment losing their argument for it to continue, he felt himself fuming inside.
<Weaklings! We can't end the project now, without finishing it. A few months in combat simulations? So he broke some bones, suffered some injuries, "died" a few times - so what? It wasn't real, he's still here, and he deserves worse than that for what he did to me, treating me like shit from the day I met him, bringing Angel up at every occasion, trying to spoil things between me and Buffy. It was his suspicions that started them all questioning the Initiative and its aims in the first place. And then he started them questioning me! What right did they have to demand I help them against my unit? All the time I was with them, helping them out when they fought, he never trusted me, never treated me even half as well as he did the rest. Well, I guess he was right in the end wasn't he? I showed him who was the better man. Who's locked in a cell now?>
As Riley's mind ranted to himself while the discussions were going on, the scientists appeared to heading to a conclusion when he spoke up, interrupting his own thoughts, voicing the idea he had been carrying in his head for a few weeks.
'There is another option...'
The scientists looked at him in shock, disbelief that he had spoken up for the first time in one of the progress meetings.
'Well?,' queried the scientist arguing against the experiment, 'What is it?'
'Harris has gone through the simulator a thousand times, correct? He knows it's simulated. Even when he's drugged it can't replicate real life completely, so perhaps the way to trigger his memories is to involve him outside of just the simulator?'
'What are you talking about Captain? We can't just throw him into a combat situation, you've seen his performances.'
'I wasn't talking about a combat situation sir. You are aware of subject 269 yes? She was brought to the facility by myself at the same time as I brought in Harris.'
'We are aware of the background Captain. We are well aware that you were responsible for bringing the two into the project - this has already been noted..'
'Then you are aware of the relationship between the two subjects sir? You are aware that he loves her very much, that he would most likely die for her? He has fought for her and alongside her for a number of years. The interrogation sessions and the records from the Initiative make this quite clear.'
'We are aware of this Captain, please get to the point'
'Yes sir. My suggestion is this : Harris is aware that the simulations are just that - simulations. No matter how real they appear, a part of his mind is aware that they are not real. That part of his mind, the subconscious, is where the memories are locked, correct? So the knowledge that it is not real is preventing us from applying enough pressure to break through or to trigger the memories release. In order for us to break this barrier, we must make the scenarios into reality, at least in part. And the key to making the scenarios real is right in front of us - subject 269.'
'You are suggesting that we use the woman to somehow make the scenarios more real to him?'
'In part sir. The experiment for which she was being used ended a couple of weeks ago. She was targeted for termination at the end of that, until I placed a delay order on it for just this possibility. I suggest we use her within this experiment. Harris cannot fail to react if she is threatened, his profiling makes this very clear - he's loved her for years. We've tried using her image in the simulation, but that cannot substitute for the real thing.'
'This would involve putting her in physical danger in order for your idea to work, if I'm following you correctly Finn. If his subconscious recognizes when the danger is not truly real, then the only way to avoid this will be to hurt the subject, the girl.'
'I am aware of this sir, but as I pointed out, she is targeted for termination at present. It doesn't really matter what we do with her since the end result will be the same. It is unlikely that the sight of her being tortured within the scenario, knowing that it is real, will fail to generate an emotional response. And it is that emotional response that may cause his mind to revert back to his lost memories in order to attempt to save her.'
The room fell silent for a minute or two as the assembled brains considered the idea, mulling over the possibilities if they went through with this. Riley could almost see their minds ticking over, rejecting any moral qualms they may have once had. coming round to support his suggestion.
<And when they agree, I get to see both of them suffer as they should. Seeing her hurting will cause him more pain than if it was inflicted upon him. What was the phrase they said Angel called him? Oh yes - White Knight! Well, knights are supposed to save the damsel in distress aren't they? You'll certainly have too now won't you? Whether this works or not doesn't really matter, as long as I get to see you both hurting. And while that's going on, I might even start on the rest of your little group - what was the name of that little lesbian friend of yours again?>
He could hear a few muttered comments between the group assembled around the table, not really listening to what they were saying now. The scientists working on the experiment should leap at the chance to continue on a new track, anything to prove their months of work hadn't been wasted. The rest would have to agree that his idea made sense, that it was a viable option.
Scientists could be so easily manipulated. So intent on their books and learning that they couldn't see when they were being played by a professional.
The hushed conversation amongst the scientists petered out as they turned to face Finn, the expressions on their faces already telling him what he needed to know.
'It is agreed Finn. Subject 269 will be transferred to the Harris project and be interjected into the program immediately. The results of this addition will be evaluated in a month's time, at which point a decision will be made as to whether the experiment will continue. In the event that no further progress is made, both subjects will be terminated.'
'Sir, I request permission to be involved in this new line of approach sir. Given my close association with the woman in the past, I should be in a better position to offer advice to the team in charge. With that deadline, we will need to push ahead as quickly as possible and my knowledge may prove critical to this.'
'Agreed Captain. We had already decided that this would be the best method of approach. You are to liaise with Dr Drake Roberts, and for the moment, you are relieved of your additional duties on this base. Inform your commander as soon as possible.'
Saluting the group in front of him, Riley turned away smartly, all military poise and professionalism. Internally, he was laughing at the top of his lungs, marveling at how the world sometimes seemed to just bend to his desires.
<Looks like my fun is just beginning....>
The smoke from the smoldering debris behind him curled around his body like a thin cloak as he stood at the top of the stairs, listening for any sign that the fleeing soldiers had decided to make a stand.
Not hearing anything ahead of him, only the occasional crash of debris falling from the levels above him, Xander continued down to the next level.
As he strode down the stairs and then through the first level of holding pens, his pace picked up, not wanting to waste any time looking though an area he had already cleared. As he passed the cells on either side of him, their tinted windows shielding most of the inhabitants from his view, he wondered whether any of the demons held here were as harmless as others he had encountered of the years.
<The Initiative never considered whether they were using innocents, why should this place have been any better? After what they did to her, I don't think that hurting a few demons, innocent or not, would give them any pause>
Reaching the end of the level, he continued down to the next layer of cells, pausing only briefly at its entrance to extend his senses before him. Not hearing a sound, his level of hearing ratcheted up to the point where he would have been able to hear anybody still alive's breathing, he continued through.
As he passed over the bodies of the demons, not bothering to step over them but walking over them as if they weren't even there, he took the opportunity to quickly glance around, looking to see if there were any new species amongst them that would be worth recording.
The sight of the soldiers and scientists among the bodies were simply ignored, a scene which, when he was younger, would have meant him passing out, no longer raising a flicker of interest to him. He had seen too many people die during his life, starting in high school and never ending, even after he had left. The results of his time here had only made the situation worse, as he became a marked figure to any of the multitude of beings from both demonkind and people who dealt with it.
<Hmmm, a Denalgon demon. I wonder how they managed to keep that one alive? Their nervous system rarely lasts when they are caught, preferring to shut down without the company of their kin. Don't see any others here though - can't have been here long.>
He reached the end of the corridor, slightly surprised that there wasn't anything new to him among the bodies and continued out through door, kicking the Ferangi demon out of the way as he passed, allowing the damaged door to close off behind him. For the first time since his ambush on the jungle floor, he was entering territory unfamiliar to him.
Even as Riley and small group with him were desperately trying to access the communications below, Xander reached the 6th level down, only one floor now separating him from those he was hunting.
The sight of the door as he passed caused him to freeze.
LEVEL 6 : SIMULATION ROOM AND LABORATORIES ACCESS LIMITED BEYOND THIS POINT
As he realized where he was, what must lie behind that door, emotions threatened to overwhelm him. The long years he had spent since being brought here, always alert for anything that might aid him in his search for the facility, seeking answers that could only be found in the databases in the levels below, had finally culminated in this attack on the building.
But even as he knew that the answers he sought lay not on this level but below, that those he might still have to fight would be hiding there, he could not move, his muscles truly frozen in fear for the first time in years.
There were only two places in existence that could cause that kind of reflex panic to course through his body, and although this was perhaps, and only perhaps, the lesser of the two, it still had the power to stop his downward momentum in its tracks, drawing his eyes and mind towards it as if with a magnet.
As his body cracked the door open, he paused on the threshold, not stepping through. A part of his mind called him forward, to enter the space where he had been forced to spent so much time, but even as he made the effort to advance, another part of his mind prevented him, screaming at him that he still had a purpose, a mission to complete.
Minutes passed by as he stood there, frozen in indecision as the deeper areas of his mind struggled to process his emotions, images of the past blurring with the present till they threatened to overwhelm him.
His body screamed his tension as he stood there, every muscle appearing to hum, to shake, until without any discernable signal, without any change in his surroundings, his body suddenly relaxed, the chemical reactions that had wound him up suddenly ending as his mind reached a critical state.
He turned away from the door, his face beyond calmness, beyond expression. He could have been a man taking his dog for a walk had it not been for the look in his eyes. No hint of pain, of feelings, were evident in those brown globes, the lack of life within creating an air of drive and purpose as he began his descent.
Even as Xander had been making his way down through the complex in his wake, Riley had been trying the emergency override signals on the unit in front of him, punching code and after code into the system in an attempt to achieve contact with the satellite above.
The system rejected his codes again and again, throwing him out of the database before he could make the connection required. The standard codes he had been provided with before he boarded the helicopter hours earlier were entered, one after another, systematically working his way down the small list. As he reached the last of the numbers on the card he swore to himself in frustration.
<Shit! None of the codes are working. How the hell did he do this?>
He was left with only one option, a code he had built into the original system all those years ago. It relied on a separate transmission dish that was installed at the site upon its inception, and after the first few weeks of use, had been quickly replaced by the much larger transmitting satellite. The lack of any discernable linkage through the main system merely reinforcing Riley's belief that the main dish had been taken out along with the main power at the start of the assault
Punching in a radically different code to those he had tried and failed with, Riley finally managed to gain a link. Watching the signal power fade in and out, he cursed.
<Those fools probably didn't even know it was there! If they'd had any sense they would have at least ensured it remained in working order. If it doesn't work now, and we can't stop him, they'll never know what happened here. Got to get that signal out.>
The female doctor watched him as he tried to divert energy to the equipment, siphoning off the electrical power from the main dish, now no longer functioning.
A picture suddenly appeared on the nearest screen, static lines streaking across the vision, clouding the image of the medalled and uniformed figure sitting there.
<Yes!!> thought Riley to himself as he prepared to speak.
'General Davis sir. We may not have much time, I'm using an old signal generator which may not hold up. I have to report that most of the facility has been destroyed. All of the soldiers have been killed and there are only two surviving scientists. None of the specimens appears to be present. They are either dead or escaped...'
He was cut off even as he spoke.
'They're all dead - are you sure commander?'
'Yes sir, there do not appear to be any survivors, although there's still two levels that I've not had checked. Sir, I have to report that subject Harris is still alive. He appears to be responsible for the assault on the facility, and for the attack on my team.'
'Harris? We believed he was dead when they captured him. The reports stated that there was no possibility of him returning....are you certain that it was him commander?'
The screen flickered wildly for a moment, as the picture faded in and out.
'Yessir. It was definitely Harris. Aside from everything else, I caught a clear visual of the scar sir. It's highly unlikely that anyone else possessing such a distinguishing mark would have found this facility, and even more so, to attack it. I think you need to check the source of those reports regarding his death. There are also two other survivors of the team that came in with me sir. We suffered an ambush earlier today from what I have to assume were escapees from the facility, and incurred major casualties, forcing us to proceed in daylight to the compound. That's how we are communicating at this time. Unfortunately he was waiting for us when we got here. He killed almost all of the remaining men before we managed to get inside and make our way down here. I judged that reporting this matter was more important than making our stand earlier general.'
'You were right Finn. This may yet affect have more wide-reaching consequences - we're going to have to find how long he's been operating without our knowledge. Do you know what access has he had within the facility Finn? Has he accessed the databases yet?'
'It does not appear so sir. The two scientists do not report anyone else down here since this began. It seems that after taking out what was left of the army detail and most of the demons not killed by the base units, he proceeded back up to the jungle surface to wait for us to arrive.'
'You must stop him from acc___ng the computer ma___rame co_____der at all c_sts! He must ___ get his h____ on the inf____tion stored there.'
As the power levels being fed to the signal began to fluctuate wildly, the communication with the uniformed officer began to break up. Diverting the power from the picture to the narrower voice beam, Riley attempted to continue the contact.
'Sir, we're breaking up. I can't seal this area with only two wounded support staff and the two scientists sir. If I'm to get them out, we'll have to retreat to the last level and try to seal one of the smaller rooms while we wait for reinforcements.
'They won't ______ in time commander, and pre_____ng him access to the syst__s is critical. You are authorized to -'
The signal ended abruptly as a power surge blew the transmitter, the miniature satellite dish on the roof of the compound frying with a surge of sparks, joining the main dish as so much useless metal.
<Fuck>
Even as he fought to resist the temptation to pound on the now useless equipment, he was forced into action by the words of Dr Marshall, still standing by the entrance to the floor, his hands blood-soaked from the emergency treatment he had been forced into performing on the soldiers, trying to repair the damage that he had caused, even if it had been by accident.
'Commander Finn, I hear footsteps on Level 6. I think he's coming - what do we do?'
'Everyone into the communications room, now!!,' ordered Riley quickly. 'It's the most heavily secured of all the rooms on this level, and he can't risk blowing his way in if he's after the information here.'
The three men by the entrance scrambled to obey, the doctor supporting Harrison as he was half carried across the floor, his injured leg still leaking blood despite the improved tourniquet and bandages. Saunders followed with no more pace, the wound from his shoulder having proved much harder to treat, thick bandages wrapped around his upper body in an attempt to reduce the blood loss to little success, the sheer volume of the blood he had lost causing to come dangerously close to passing out.
Even as the soldier reached the doorway he collapsed, falling to the floor without warning, his head banging against the bottom edge of the door as he landed, the sound of the impact enough to make the nearby doctor wince, even as he rushed to his aid.
With the assistance of the female doctor, he dragged Saunders through, hearing the door slam behind him as Riley initiated the security locks. The heavy steel door sealed instantly, the small panel by the side of the door flashing red as the security systems engaged with the press of a button.
'Dr Marshall, do you know how to fire a gun?,' Riley queried, not surprised at the immediate shake of the head. 'Ok, here's the drill......'
Xander paced down the stairwell, his back hugging the walls as he went, his right arm extended with the wrap-around weapon foremost. As he approached the next level, where the survivors were huddled, he slowed, every additional step taken slower than the last until he reached the landing.
Spying the door, riddled with holes, and then the floor, now covered with the blood that had poured from Saunders and Harrison, Xander almost smiled. At the sign of the evidence of the nerves and tension of his targets that must have caused this, he almost laughed.
Almost.
For when his mind had reached this state, this eerie state of calm, he never smiled, never laughed. He wasn't even sure that he could.
Crouching at the side of the door, he lowered his additional weapons and the duffel bag behind him as he extended a small metal device taken from his belt, the curved mirror at the end of the stick reflecting the image of the room beyond. He studied the reflective surface, trying to see if there could be anyone waiting for him, his eyesight focusing like lasers, his senses following.
Nothing.
He waited, cat like and motionless as he crouched, his muscles locked in an impossible stillness, listening for any tiny sound.
Nothing.
He held his pose for nearly 2 minutes, unwilling to advance even after he was certain there wasn't anything, or at least anyone, in the space ahead, and then, with a sudden flurry of motion, he exploded into the room.
His bent legs acted as a spring as his body flew into the air, twisting and curling as he span, his weapon extended as he moved. Landing on the cold surface of the floor he rolled, first sideways and then forward, all in one smooth motion, coming to a halt against the wall, facing inwards, his gun ready to fire at the slightest provocation.
In front of him lay a small atrium, a series of doors leading off to each side, a larger door directly ahead. The large heavy windows next to each door on the left indicated at once their purpose as laboratories. In a place where even to be inside normally required top level clearance, certain activities had to be performed in open view, and when that was the case, this was where they were performed, the fronting allowing spectators to observe and record at first hand.
He had never been to this level, or at least he didn't remember, which amounted to the same thing under these circumstances, but the purpose of those rooms might as well have been written across their entrances in neon lights.
Beyond a fast visual inspection through the glass, he ignored them. They were not what he was here for, not what he had gone to this trouble for.
To his right lay another series of doors, each lying open and unguarded. Sweeping inside each with speed, he quickly cleared them. For all their use as offices and meeting rooms, there was little chance that anything of importance would be stored there. Paper was a little used commodity here, information instead being recorded in digital form, heavily encrypted at all times.
To access any information beyond surface detail, there was only one place he could go. He needed access to the mainframe, to the machine that held the secrets of the facility, to the experiments that they had performed here, on him and his friend.
To a part of his past.....
That place lay in front of him, the multiple security panels by the side of the titanium enhanced door doing the opposite of what they were intended for. Instead of warning him away, they acted only to draw him to the door beside them.
Before approaching the door however, he strode back into the stairwell, retrieving his additional weapons and bag, no longer hesitant as he returned, carrying his grenade launcher loosely.
Studying the door, he considered his options, quickly ruling out simply blasting his way through. If his rockets did make it through the door, or the walls around it, they would only serve to destroy what he had come all this way for, and if they didn't pierce the metal frame, the resulting back blast would only serve to create more damage to himself and the room he was in than to the entrance.
He approached the security panels, studying them closely as he reached the wall. He was well aware that they could not be simply opened up and deactivated by simply touching a few wires like a movie script. The military may not always spend their money wisely, but even they couldn't fail to get security apparatus better than even a private household could buy on the open market.
He ruled out trying to crack the system. The combination of retinal scans, palm prints and security codes could be cracked in time, if he had the specialized equipment with him, but there were faster ways through.
Placing his heavier weapons to one side, he pulled one of the small red tubes from the array across his chest. Flipping the small nozzle at the end open, he slide the tube up the door, leaving a thick trail of goo in its path. Emptying one tube, he carefully placed it aside, pulling another from his chest and performing the same operation.
In moments he had traced a path around the edges of the door, the trail leading from the floor to head-height in one long, continuous stroke. There was no immediate reaction from the substance against the metal, nor did he expect there to be one.
Reaching again to his body, this time to his utility belt, he pulled a small narrow pipe from its position by his hip. Placing it flat against the surface of the door, half covered by the transparent fluid, he held it in place with the point of a small blade pulled from his bag. A second knife was held in his right hand, the tip resting millimeters from the pipe in front of him.
Xander paused for a moment, exhaling smoothly as he did so, and as the final traces of air left his lungs, he rapped the second knife forward, striking the cylinder at its center.
The reaction was instantaneous.
As the impact of the blow triggered a chemical reaction, the thin pipe appeared to melt, mixing with the fluids clinging to the door. Even as the two liquids combined, the fluid he had traced around the door reacted to the chemical substance now introduced to it. A thin blue line streaked around the trail as a chain reaction was started, no sudden flames, no explosion, just a faint hissing sound.
Xander stood back as the chemicals went to work. The effect was like acid, eating its way through the normally impenetrable metal in slow but relentless motion. The pace of its advance through the door wasn't fast, allowing him time to step away, drawing the sword sheathed along his spine with one hand, and pulling two tiny objects from the pocket on his belt.
Those on the other side of the door could hear the faint hissing side, even through the thickness of the metal, but only Riley recognized it for what it was.
'Shit,' he exclaimed as he waited, 'He's not trying to blast him way inside - something's eating through the door.'
For the first time since he begun the mission, a flash of fear ran through Riley's body.
<Maybe I was a little overconfident. Maybe he really has improved as much as they said. I never heard them say anything about chemicals and acid though>
The two soldiers backed up against the side wall, trying to hold their weapons at the ready as they did so, but with little success. Having regained consciousness only moments earlier, Saunders was fading in and out of awareness, and even before the door was half melted, he slipped out again, this time falling into a coma, the sheer amount of blood which he had lost causing his body to shut down in an attempt at survival.
Harrison tried to support his weapon, his broken ribs making arm movements difficult, his wounded leg causing him to wilt to the floor next to his now unconscious colleague, preparing himself for what was to come.
The two scientists retreated behind the furthermost desk, attempting to hide themselves from any immediate assault, the male doctor clutching the rifle on which's use he had been instructed only moments earlier.
The slow, unremitting hiss continued as the metal continued to be eaten away......
.......on the other side of the door, Xander waited in perfect silence in the center of the room as the reaction continued.
Seconds later it ceased, the door almost completely penetrated, only millimeters of the metal separating the two rooms where the acid burn had cut into the door.
<The wonders of magic and science> he thought. <Enhance a little Coransic acid and what do you get? An acid that'll eat through anything but stop before it reaches the other side..>
Stepping to one side of the door, he drew his breath in smoothly and then, with one vicious movement, he span around, swinging his leg up as he did so, the ball of his foot impacting on the center of the weakened door with tremendous force.
The door reacted as if it had been hit by a thunderbolt, the weakened seams gave way at the same time, sending the major part of the door flying inwards, impacting on the nearby desk, shattering it in the process.....
.....as the door flew inwards, missing him by mere inches, Riley reacted instantaneously, letting loose with his rifle, the high speed fire sending bullets flying back through the doorway, filling the outer room with gunfire.
As his rifle clicked empty, he snatched up his second weapon without pausing, unleashing another volley of fire before diving behind a nearby workstation, listening for any sign of the advancing attacker.....
.....while the bullets flew by Xander, standing with his back against the wall, his spin having continued after his foot impacted on the door, to send him across the doorway to the other side.
Again he almost smiled, hearing the man inside throwing himself through the air.
Pulling a white striped grenade from his chest for the first time, he pulled the pin and threw it through the now open entrance, hearing it bounce off a work surface before rattling to the ground......
......and Riley winced as he heard the grenade fall, landing only feet away from him.
<Shit. I thought he wouldn't want to damage the computers>
And then the grenade went off the sound of the small explosion filled the air, almost deafening him.....
<Oh fuckkkk......>
The hiss of the escaping gas filled the room, rendering those inside unconscious in seconds, the trailing fumes billowing back out through the doorway as Xander carefully breathed through his nose plugs.
Waiting for the few seconds that it took for the gas to fill the room inside, Xander stepped across the threshold, ducking his head slightly to ensure that he didn't touch the outer acidic edges of the frame.
As the gas rapidly cleared, drawn out by the ventilation systems installed to protect the computers in the event of fire, he quickly made his way around the room, collecting every weapon he could find on or around the bodies lying there. The two scientists appeared to be minimal threat at first glance, and the grievous wounds that the two soldiers appeared to have suffered meant that there was little chance of them causing him much difficulty.
Which left Riley Finn....
<Trust Riley to be the only one not to be injured from the support squad. Never let it be said that he didn't know how to dive out of danger and leave his men to take the shots>
From his duffle bag he pulled a series of plastic strips, tying Riley and the two scientists to three of the nearby chairs, their wrists and ankles bound together in what would likely prove a highly uncomfortable position.
The two soldiers he left where they lay. By the looks of one of them, he wouldn't make it - certainly the pool of blood in which he was lying pointed that way. The injury to the second one's leg would be enough to prevent him moving far, but just to be on the safe side his wrists were fastened too.
Stepping to the nearby workstations, Xander studied the hardware carefully, circling the room to take in all of the equipment that filled the large space. Most of it appeared to be standard terminals for general use, if the term general use could ever be used for what went on here.
He finally approached the central unit, its slightly advanced position raising the possibility that if any one unit had more functions and access than the others, this might be the one.
Stepping towards it, he lifted his bag onto the surface alongside the touchscreen, pulling the chair out of the way as he did so. The solid frame beneath the key pad was dented slightly, a stray bullet having ricocheted across its surface. Xander rendered this scratch immaterial as, with a smash of his boot against the thin steel cover, he broke through, following up with his gloved hands to tear the sheet apart, allowing him access to the wires and hardware underneath.
Slipping the miniaturized computer from his left forearm, Xander extruded two thin wires from its end, pulling them out from the pad with his fingernails. Carefully, he slid the ends into two contact points buried within the equipment below the surface, leaving his unit on top.
Using both hands, he initiated his computers functions, touching his fingertips to the two small squares on the display screen. As his dual prints were accepted, the computer hummed into action, the screen lighting up as it did so, numbers flying across the screen faster than could be made out.
PLEASE ENTER ACCESS CODE : the screen prompted.
Xander quickly typed in a complex mixture of numbers and letters, the screen quickly changing as he finished.
INITIATING CONTACT........ ACCESSING SYSTEM..........
The screen flashed the words up rapidly and then the small computer began to hum slightly.
Knowing that it would take some time for systems access to be achieved, even with the sophisticated equipment he had with him, and that the effects of the gas would last a few minutes longer, Xander took the opportunity to leave the room and level in order to check the floor below.
A fast visual scan was all that was required, the small compact rooms and open barracks leaving few places where opposition could be hiding. The lack of private facilities took him slightly by surprise, expecting at least the scientists in charge to have been offered better accommodation, but he supposed the limited space available prevented such privileges.
As the only reason for being down there was to ensure there were no nasty surprises that could cause him any problems, Xander was back up to the communications in only a few minutes.
His computer was still humming contentedly to itself at the front of the room, the lack of progress proving no surprise to Xander. A database with the level of secrecy and clearance of this one was bound to have major defenses in place, and he knew it could take some time before his system could gain access.
In the meantime, while waiting for his companions to regain consciousness, he filled the time by flipping through the small handful of paper files that had been lying in one of the nearby offices, skimming through the memos within.
Just as he uncovered one useful piece of information, the sounds of the people in the room stirring caused him to put aside the files and return his focus to them.
'Good evening,' Xander spoke softly, his voice not rising above a murmur.
'Xander,' spat Riley straight back to him, the scorn evident in his voice.
The remaining trio were silent, Saunders having lapsed into a coma, and the others too terrified of their position to risk antagonizing Xander if at all avoidable.
'Riley Finn as I live and breathe. I thought they'd fired you after my last 'visit' here, courtesy of your kind attentions?'
'What can I say? The best is always called back.'
'You're no longer the best now Riley, you haven't been for some time. You still don't understand what I'm capable of, do you? What you managed to turn me into?'
'Who gives a shit?,' replied Riley defiantly if foolishly. 'You going to kill us all in cold blood? Or are you man enough to take me one on one?'
'You want me to give you a chance?,' responded Xander softly. 'The same way you gave me a chance? The same way you gave her a chance?'
'You do remember don't you Riley? You remember what you did to her? What they did to her?'
'Yes,' replied Riley, 'I remember. I remember you cried like a little boy when we brought her out. How you couldn't stop pleading for her life. I remember....'
The memories of both men now flashed back, back to when Xander's nightmare and Riley's game had begun....
His face pale, the blood drained from his features, his body crumpling in defeat, Xander could only stare helplessly at the girl he loved. The girl he loved with all his heart, more than anyone else in the world.
Xander knew he would go through a lot for his friends, knew that he would die to save most of them, as he knew they would for him.
In that moment he realized that dying would easy.
For the girl before him, faint bruises lining her jaw, the usual power in her body absent, he realized he would do more than die for. He would go to hell for her, suffer for eternity rather than see her hurt. And he knew he was going to suffer that and still not be allowed to die...
'Willow.................'
'Willow.................'
Xander's voice cracked slightly as he gasped the words, his heart shattering as he did so, tears forming in his eyes.
'Oh god, no.....'
The memories of his final day before being brought to this place returned, the sight of Willow dredging up images even through that drug-addled area of his memories.
...a picnic in the park, the whole group there, laughing in the sunshine. Giles and Joyce watching over them all smiling, Willow and Tara playing with each others hair, Riley and Buffy just lying under a tree, Anya rifling through his wallet as she watched Xander teasing Dawn...
...celebrating once again the defeat of Adam, just a couple of months ago...
...the sun beginning to fade, watching the colors across the sky, mixing together before their eyes...
...going to the Bronze, Buffy leaving early to patrol, taking Tara with her, laughing as Willow tried to steal one more kiss, Riley leaving minutes later muttering about work to do, leaving just Xander and Willow...
...walking home as darkness threatened, laughing as they did so, still alert for the dangers they knew threatened at night..
...the attack by two vampires, fending them off with crosses and stakes, then their dead bodies exploding into dust...
...Riley standing there, a stake in his hand, a strange smile on his face as he offered to give them a lift home, his expression shifting as Xander declined...
...Riley's fist flying into his face, even as a dart struck Willow on the shoulder, hands pulling them into the dark van behind them...
'Why? Why did you do this to us? We trusted you,' Xander whispered, his face turning momentarily from the sight of Willow, locking eyes with Riley's figure standing before him.
'It was business Xander. I work for the government remember? It's always business.'
Opening the cell door, two of the accompanying soldiers thrust the small figure inside Xander's cell. Her body was sent crashing to the ground with the force of their actions, arms flying out to try to break her fall, Xander's rush to her side to late to save her from the impact on the hard floor.
'Make yourself comfortable Mr. Harris. We begin again tomorrow, only this time your friend will be participating,' one of the white clad scientists spoke up, his cold voice vibrating off the glass separating them.
At this the scientists and soldiers filed away, the glass shifting color again, darkening till the view beyond could no longer be made out by the two figures inside the cell.
Only Riley remained on the other side of the glass, watching Xander cling to the huddled figure beside him, clutching her tightly to his chest, the heartbroken expression on his face speaking volumes about how he was feeling.
<Not so confident now are you Xander? Lets see how you feel tomorrow.>
Minutes passed before Riley turned away from the sight of two of those with whom he had spent so much time, who had fought at his side, now suffering before him. To those who might have observed him he appeared unmoved, but internally he was smiling, the thought of what he was about to inflict upon the two raising his spirits, even as he strode away to continue with the planning of the forthcoming experiments.
Xander held the small figure in his arms for what seemed like hours, holding her tightly within his embrace, her head resting against his beating heart. His hand ran through her hair, stroking it gently, feeling the auburn strands running through his fingers, over and over.
He didn't want to look at her too closely, not wanting to see the bruises on her face again, to see the pain that had been evident in her eyes, not wanting to see if she was hurt anywhere else, content for the moment just to hold her in his arms, to soften her pain.
His tears ran silently down his face, running over his own bruises and scars, rolling over his dry lips as they fell onto the woman in his arms. Willow's soft tears were rolling down her face too, oozing out of her bloodshot eyes to fall against his arms, soaking the shirt he was wearing.
Time passed as they knelt there in silence, holding each other.
Eventually it was Willow that broke the silence, that interrupted the comforting embrace between them.
'Xander.....?,'she murmured against his chest. 'Oh god, I've missed you. I was so scared......'
"Willow......,' Xander whispered in response, his words almost lost against her hair, his lips only inches away from the top of her head. 'Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did they hurt you?'
Willow was silent for a moment, searching for the words.
'They took my magic Xander. They took my magic..... They just drained it, over and over again, until at the end, I couldn't do anything, not even the smallest spell,' she whispered, pain evident in her voice.
'I'm sorry Willow, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have trusted Riley, I should have seen...'
'No Xander. You were the only one of us to question him and the Initiative. I thought you were just jealous because he had Buffy. I should have believed you, I should have wondered why he was still helping us after the Initiative closed down, why he hadn't been reassigned with the rest of them....'.
Her voice trailed off as she realized for the first time the depths of Riley's deception.
'He must have been working against us that whole time Xander. All that time he was going out with Buffy, when we were helping the Initiative, he was just getting ready to betray us... How could he do that to us Xander? How could he do that to Buffy?'
Xander couldn't respond. The same questions had run through his mind repeatedly over the past few months, alone in his cell, nothing but his thoughts and memories to occupy him, to distract from what they were putting him through, day after day. He knew she was right, that Riley must have been planning this for a while, that it couldn't have just been on the spur of the moment.
'I don't know Willow, I don't know. He worked for the government. They made him what he is. Remember? Maggie Walsh and the drugs? We thought he had rebelled. We thought he had rejected what they stood for, but it must have just been another way to get in with us. We had to take his word, and when Buffy believed him, we went along. We didn't stop to question why he would still be with us?'
'You tried,' she murmured again. 'You argued against letting him in in the first place, You said we couldn't trust the army.....'
'I didn't question enough Willow. When we took down A.D.A.M. I stopped asking questions, I believed him, or at least I wanted to believe him. I wanted another guy in the group. You had Buffy, Tara, Joyce, even Anya, and I wanted another guy to talk to....if I hadn't been so short sighted, this might not have happened....'
'Xander, no! We were all at fault. None of us stopped to think he might do this to us, we couldn't know...'
Willow clung even tighter to her best friend, her first and strongest love, her brother - not of the blood but of the heart. The one person she knew she could count on never to let her down, never to let her fall, no matter what stood in his way. The one person she knew she could always count on to try to help her, even from herself.
She started to cry once more, holding on to him as her rock, the only thing standing between her and the darkness, and he could only return her embrace in kind, his eyes full of tears as he contemplated what she must have gone through.
Time passed as they held each other.
'I knew you were here,' she finally whispered, again being the one to break the silence. 'They showed me what was happening to you, what they were doing to you. Oh Xander, I'm sorry. I couldn't do anything, I couldn't help you, I'm so sorry...'
'Ssshhhhh,' Xander soothed into her ear, not sure what to say to her.
'I know you didn't know I was here, they told me. They were laughing when they did so Xander. They thought it was funny that you didn't know I was so close..'
'If I'd known you were here Willow, I would have found you. I would have found a way, you know that don't you? I would have found you,' Xander tried to assure her, knowing that it was to himself that his words were really addressed.
'I know Xander, I know. But you couldn't have done anything, there's too many of them and if you'd tried...,' her voice trailed off, her sentence unfinished.
'You said they'd drained you magic Willow - how did they manage it? Did they hurt you?'
'They forced me to use my powers Xander, all the time. They wouldn't stop. They just kept on and on. They kept trying these spells and they had these machines...I don't know if they were trying to drain my powers for themselves or if they were trying to find a way of ending them. I still don't know. My strength just faded over time, they were drawing so much from me. I don't know if I just....ran out of the energy that makes my magic work.....or whether they found a spell that stopped it. A couple of weeks ago, my powers just stopped. I couldn't do anything, and after a while they just left me alone. I didn't know what they were going to do to me....they can't just let me go, and if my magic is gone then I thought they would just.....'
'Stop. Don't say that Willow. We'll find out way out of here, together we'll find a way.'
'But why did they put us together now Xander. It's been months, my magic's gone. What do they want from us?'
'I don't know. Whatever they were trying with me doesn't appear to be going too well. They're trying to draw out the memories of my possessions, I'm not sure why. They don't tell me anything, just run these scenarios, over and over again. They put me in this simulator thing, sometimes with the soldiers and then they force me to fight all the time, and it hasn't worked. The people in charge, they seemed to be getting more and more angry about it and I thought they were going to give up until a couple of days ago.'
'What happened?'
'They didn't come for me. I haven't seen them for a couple of days, and then they came today. And they brought you and ..'
'And...?'
'And that makes me more afraid. Because they said they would begin again tomorrow, and if your powers are gone, and they haven't succeeded with mine, then what do they want with us now?'
Willow fell silent, unable to answer his question, his fear for her echoed by her own fear for him.
They spent the rest of the day talking, recalling happier memories from the past, before vampires and slayers, before they knew what went on in the shadows, before innocence was lost.
They didn't discuss their time after Buffy had arrived, after their lives had changed, be it for better or worse. What good would it do to recall those memories now? They were here, and nothing in the outside world was going to save them from whatever they were facing, as so they retreated to their past, to their childhood.
As the hours passed they began to drift to sleep, still holding each other tightly in a close embrace, Xander holding her against his chest, listening to the sounds of her breathing. As he felt himself drifting off, the question that had been at the back of his mind, the question that he had been too afraid to ask her surfaced.
'Willow? How did they get you to use your magic? Couldn't you have used it to get yourself out of here?'
Willow remained silent. She knew he would ask her this eventually, and she knew that her answer could only increase his pain, would cause him to blame himself once more for events over which he had no control.
'Willow?'
She knew he would keep asking. That stubborn part of his personality would force it out of her, even though he knew what her answer was going to be, knowing that she didn't want to voice it.
'Willow?'
'They showed me....'
'What Willow? What did they show you?'
'They showed me you. They showed me what they were doing to you, they showed me you were here, were still alive. And they said......they said that if I didn't use my magic, if I didn't do what they said, then they would kill you.......and I couldn't let that happen, I couldn't let them do that........so I did what they said, over and over again, until.......I couldn't any more.'
'Oh no! Willow, you should have gone, you should have used your powers and left, escaped. You could have come back with the others, I would have been ok, I could have waited, they wouldn't have killed me..'
Even as he spoke, Xander knew that she could never have done as he said. She would never have left him here in this place, knowing that he could never have even contemplated leaving her. If the situation had been reversed, he knew that he would have stayed, that he would have done anything they asked if only to keep her alive for even a day longer.
'You know that I couldn't,' she replied. 'You would never have left me here, you know that. You would stay for me - how could I do less for you?'
'But you should still have gone, you could have come back.......'
'They would have killed you. We're both still alive now, but if I'd gone, they would have killed you. I know it and you know it too......'
Xander could hear it in her voice - the fear, the love, and the absolute confidence that she had made the right decision. He knew without looking that she was decided, that there was nothing he could have said or done that would have changed her mind. No matter how afraid she might be, for herself and for him, he knew that she felt she had made the only decision possible.
Xander didn't argue with her, didn't say again that she should have gone, taken the opportunity to save herself. What good would it do? Faced with the same situation, he knew she would do the same again, the same thing that he would have done..
So he held her as she fell asleep in his arms, allowing the beat of his heart to soothe her, the warmth of his own body wrapping around her own, comforting her even as she slept....
The memory of that night crashed through Xander as he stood in the communications room, the two scientists tied up to one side, the two injured soldiers lying on the ground next to them, and Riley Finn in front of him.
He remembered her smell, that special fragrance that he remembered always coming from Willow, not matter what perfume she wore, what state she was in. A scent that had been more familiar to him than his own, that started when they could barely walk together and had only grown stronger as the years had gone by.
He hadn't known that was what it was. Hadn't known how he could tell if she was in a room just by walking in. Hadn't realized that her scent was impregnated almost in his genes, a chemical signal designed to raise the protective instincts all family should bear. For she had been his family, from as early as he could remember.
More than any other in his life, she had been his family, protecting him, supporting him, sometimes from his blood family, more often from outsiders, just as he had tried to support her against those who would hurt cause her pain, intentionally or otherwise.
She had protected him when he was young, inviting him to stay over when she sensed his pain, giving him the love that he was not offered elsewhere. She brought him into her parents lives, forcing them by her obvious love of the small boy to take him in when needed, to care for him as their own when necessary.
As they grew up together, she had still protected him, from himself, from others, from those who would make fun of his family, of his clothes, of his lack of money. She stood by him when he was alone, filling the hole in his heart with her love.
And he had tried to do the same for Willow. Protecting her against those who would hurt her, deflecting those who would attack her onto himself, his humor keeping some at bay, making others insult himself instead of her. Those who would hurt her with words often found themselves arguing with him, without even realizing that they have been turned away from the original target of their barbs. Turning himself into the verbal punching bag that they seemed to need, as Cordelia had seemed to need, what seemed so many years before.
As they grew up, this protection had taken a physical form, sometimes as simple as stepping in front of her when walking through a crowded hallway, then later, with the arrival of the Slayer, against the creatures that constantly threatened them, all of them. Xander knew there were times when she wasn't aware of his presence watching her back, that she didn't know all he had done for her in secret, behind the scenes, that she didn't always realize what he would do for her.
But that didn't matter.
For one thing had always been constant between them, and that was love. A love that had only grown over the years, that had taken on different forms at different times but had always been there, and Xander had known it.
No matter what his mood, no matter how angry or scared or alone he had felt, he knew that she loved him and he loved her in return.
And for that love, there was nothing he would not have done....
......In the background the computing unit continued to hum softly, billions of computations and codes passing through its processors as it attempted to break into the Project's mainframe, to gain access to the information stored in its databases.
The two scientists remained mute, not moving a muscle as they stared at the confrontation between Xander and Riley, the exchanges that were passing between the two men in front of them too complex for them to understand........
...'Rise and shine children,' called Riley cheerfully, 'Time to go to work.'
The entwined pair rose, blinking sleep from their eyes, not releasing their grip on each other as they came to their feet, identical wary expressions on their pale faces. They watched as the soldiers opened the cell door, pacing inside as Riley and the scientists watched from the other side of the glass window.
'Lets go,' barked one of the soldiers, slamming Willow in the back with the butt of his rifle.
Xander started to react immediately, leaping toward the soldier, only to be stopped by the soft call from the woman on the ground.
'Xander, no!,' she cried out, trying to prevent the beating she knew would be the result of his assault on one of the soldiers, 'Do as they say, I'm fine.'
Xander ceased his headlong rush at the sound of her voice, instead turning away to help her to her feet, lifting her up and supporting her as the pair were ushered out of the room.
'What do you want from us?,' Xander asked the nearby scientist. 'Why do need Willow?'
As they were half carried, half strode to the simulator, the short distance between the cell and the room covered in seconds, none of the scientists or soldiers answered his entreaties, choosing silence as their response.
'Lets go,' barked the scientist in charge as the group entered the large simulator. 'Strap him in so we can begin.'
There were more scientists than had been present over the last few occasions he had been escorted here, and that realization ratcheted his tension up another notch. He struggled as the soldiers tore Willow from him, forcing him into the chair, the electrodes and connections fixing themselves to his body, wrapping around his head as soon as it hit the chair back. The straps and connections held him down even as he fought them for the first time, panic running through his body as he watched Willow held in front of him.
Before the visual cortexes were slid in front of his eyes, filling them with the visions that the simulator would provide, one of the scientists spoke.
'You wanted to know the purpose of your friend Mr. Harris? Well it's actually quite simple. I'm sure you are aware of the reason behind these experiments we're performing with you - to recover your memories and instincts that came with your possessions. I'm sure you are also aware that they have not been the success we had hoped. You have not performed in the simulator to any degree of satisfaction, and we have realized that perhaps the motivation was lacking, and for that we have subject 269 - Willow Rosenburg.'
'What are you talking about?,' Xander cried, 'I'm doing the best I can you bastards, just let her go!'
'We do not doubt that you are doing the best you can Mr. Harris. However, the best you can do is not the best that can come from you, and in order to brought the motivation for that, we now have your friend. Before the simulation begins, you should be aware of the following - while most of what you will see in front of you will be as before, a simulation, that which involves your friend will not be. What happens to her Mr. Harris, will be quite real. The pain that she suffers will be real, it will not be part of the simulation, although it will be incorporated within it. The only way to end her pain will be for you to save her, any way you can. I hope this provides you with enough incentive.'
As he finished his speech, Dr Daniels nodded, and the screens slide in front of Xander's eyes. Even as they did so, the soldiers escorted Willow to the opposite end of the room, strapping her body to a complicated device, a mixture of a torture chamber and a medical screener, the digital recorders able to project her image into Xander's simulation. Willow's struggles against the soldiers as she was strapped down proved ineffectual, the strength of the soldiers beyond her in normal health, never mind her much weakened state at that moment.
'Ready the scenario'
'Initiating'
The last sounds Xander could hear as he was plunged into the artificial reality of the simulation were those of Willow screaming his name as she was strapped down, her cries echoing in his ears well after he could no longer hear them........
........'Do you remember that Riley? Do you? When you watched as they strapped me into the simulator and Willow into that machine?,' Xander spoke in a hoarse whisper, his voice not reaching past the man in front of him, the rest of the people in the room with them simply tuned out by both men.
Xander's expression was dead, only his eyes reflecting the pain of his past as the images were wrenched from his memories.
Riley didn't say a word as the memories continued, simply watching Xander with a calm expression on his face, relishing the moment as Xander suffered before his eyes.
In the background, Xander's computer unit continued to hum as it attempted to gain access to the mainframe........
....Xander was plunged back into a new scenario, this one different from all those he had faced before. Instead of any of the modern military settings he had encountered over the past few months, this time he found himself inside a castle, the sun high above him. Not just one of those picture story ones for the tourists, but a real castle, the whole moat and turret thing done in spades, everything made of huge stone blocks, flags billowing from the towers.
He looked down at himself, at the clothes he seemed to be wearing. Some kind of full length gray tunic, stretching from his neck to his feet, held at the waist by a leather belt.. On top of the tunic he wore a thick metal mesh, thousands of tiny metal circles intertwined together to form a protective layer. A strange design was splashed across his chest, not the expected Red Cross on white background, the long ago symbol of the Christian crusades, but a strangely beautiful swirl of colors, merging together to somehow form a coherent whole, almost like a dragon. The gauntlets he wore on each hand were matched only by his head, covered with a thick metal helmet which stretched across his jaw, only his eyes left completely uncovered.
He was standing on the top of the outer wall, high in the air, looking out on the fields surrounding the castle walls. He could see for miles, the green fields stretching out as far as he could see, crop fields of golden wheat breaking up the solid green, their harvest swaying in the warm summer breeze. To his right lay a beautiful lake, the water a crisp and clear blue, so calm that it acted as a mirror to the mountains in the background, reflecting them in perfect symmetry, the join where the real mountains and the reflection began almost undetectable. The tops of the distant mountains glistened with pure white snow, like a picture from the top of a Swiss chocolate box.
To his left, he could make out the beginnings of what appeared to be a huge forest, the trees soaring into the air, bending slightly in the wind. He could see a herd of deer taking off from their cover at the edge of the trees, sprinting across the green grass, almost floating through the air as they ran. He could hear the birds singing as they glided through the air, their happy songs reflecting the glory of the scenery.
The picture before him was the most beautiful he had ever seen, surpassing the beaches of California, the towns and cities in which he had spent his entire life. It was a sight to make spirits soar and hearts sing.
It was perfect.....
And then he turned....
And the scene changed....
And the carnage began....
Around the walls of the castle, and in the courtyard below, a battle was underway. No movie style fight, no Robin Hood scenes of battling peasants fighting bravely against their oppressors. Every person he could see before him and beside him was armed to the teeth, crossbows, axes, scimitars and huge broadswords, and even as he realized this, Xander realized what he was holding in his own arms.
A shield hung from his left forearm, strapped tightly to help absorb any blows, the same strange pattern swirling across it, the spiked edges lending the shield a touch of barbarity. In his right he held a long broadsword, not the beautiful ones he always pictured the knights of old wielding, with jeweled hilts and gleaming silver blades. This was a sword made for killing and no other purpose. It could never be used in any parade, any pictures, its pitted surface showing clearly that it had been used before, the marks of heavy impacts against its sharp edge, its dull appearance an indication of the heavy use to which it had been put in the past. Despite its wear though, the keenness of the blade was evident as it cut through the air, slicing as it went.
Around him men were fighting and dying, their swords and axes clashing against each other, the sounds of metal on metal filling the air. Many of the men wore their own armor with the same swirling pattern across it, battling against black clad opponents, their faces - those not covered as was his own - grim with concentration as the battle raged.
Even as Xander turned, the simulator filled his mind, changed his perception of events, Willow's situation fading to the background, only a small part of his mind still aware of what was happening outside of this artificial reality, of what was going on in the real word. As the simulator took over completely, the world he was now in became the real world, the only world.
Xander was still taking in the scene before him when one of the black figures charged him, sword upraised as he screamed some ancient language. Ducking beneath the wild swing that aimed at his head, Xander slashed out reflexively with his own sword, cutting through the kneecaps of his attacker, sending him crashing to the ground. Reflexively following up with a wicked backhanded slice across the man's chest, Xander finished him off quickly, thrusting his sword deep within the man's torso, the blood spurting out, splashing against his face, streaking his helmet with the crimson fluid. As he pulled out his sword, now stained a dark scarlet color, he kicked the now lifeless figure at his feet to one side, sending the armored man over the side of the walkway on which he was standing, tumbling down to the courtyard below.
Pausing for breath, Xander took a quick look around him. His men, or at least those in the same colors, appeared to be holding their own against their dark attackers, some falling, some winning, the victors moving on to the next opponent. Then Xander looked more closely at the scene in the courtyard below him.
A mass of bodies were fighting in a pitched battle beneath him. If it had not been for the differing armors, he would have been unable to determine which men were on which side, so close was the combat, so fierce was the fighting. Bodies and limbs appeared to litter the ground, the figures of those cut down in the fighting scattered all around, as far his eyes could see, their blood mixing with the mud on the paved stone ground, turning the surface slick.
More men were charging through two doorways at opposite ends of the courtyard, black armored bodies from one end, those dressed in the same design as himself from the other, all joining in the battle immediately, engaging each other without words, without hesitation.
Multiple small battles were being fought, each combat merely a part of the whole, of the larger scene. But for those within each battle, each fight, it was not part of any larger scheme, it was all that counted, all that mattered in that moment.
Weapons swung through the air, the combatants pressed so close together that Xander could make out blows that missed their targets only to impact on another, striking down friend and foe alike without warning, without rhyme or reason. The cries of those stricken filled the air, men screaming in agony, clutching at severed joints, gutted stomachs, trying to stem the blood flow even as their victors swung again, at them, at others.
Then Xander saw what the battle was being fought for. On a raised platform at the opposite end of the courtyard, of the battle, were held several small figures, their bodies lashed to wooden frames, their arms and legs held out in the shape of a diagonal cross. Their limbs were lashed to the corners of the sideways crosses, pulled out as far as they could go, their backs taunt with the tension of the ropes. Beneath their feet was piled kindling, heaps of branches and wood jumbled together, each figure held above their own makeshift pyre.
Standing behind the figures - the women, Xander could now make out - was a much larger figure, a green robe covering him from head to toe, a mask of the same color shielding his face, a long green turban wrapped around his head in an unfamiliar design, not that of a Muslim or Sikh headdress but something different. In his hand he was holding a whip, its long leather tail stretching out beside him for a couple of meters or more.
Even as Xander watched the man swung back his whip, cracking it behind him. Xander cried out as the leather band whipped forwards, lashing across the exposed back of one of the women on the platform, cutting through her skin on the first stroke, the blood which immediately attached itself to the whip flying through the air as it swung back for a second stroke.
At the sight of the man beginning his second swing, Xander reacted, racing along the narrow walkway, weaving his way in and out of the combatants around him, not intervening in their own private battles, intent on making his way down to the courtyard below him.
Reaching the stone stairwell, he raced downwards, his metal clad feet ringing off the granite surfaces of each step. He encountered no resistance as he ran, but still it took minutes from the time he started his run on the walls above to the moment he reached the bottom of the stairwell, bursting out through the open door well at the small tower's base.
The battle before him was being engaged with even more fury than before, the lighter clad figures desperately trying to reach the platform, to stop what was happening, the black clad figures equally determined to prevent them intervening.
Xander could see that the battle was turning away from his small army, the number of dark clad combatants increasing as he watched, pouring in even greater numbers from one doorway. At the opposite end, those entering the battle against them was lessening, the previous torrent of men now reducing to a mere trickle of reinforcements. Should the battle continue, it appeared that it could only end with the triumph of the dark forces.
Recognizing this and yet unheeding it in the same instant, Xander began to fight his way across the courtyard, ducking and diving from the blows swung by both sides of the fight, occasionally slashing at a black armored body, slicing through mens' bodies and flesh, but concentrating more on passing through the yard as quickly as possible.
Halfway across the courtyard, Xander took the chance to glance at the platform in front of him, a sudden intake of breath his reaction to what he saw. The green robed figure had pulled a torch from a brazier behind him, waving the fiery wood in the air before dropping it, without warning, on the pyre that lay beneath the feet of the now bloodied form of the woman he had been whipping. The wood sparked up instantly, its dry timbers igniting immediately, the flames spreading from end to end in moments.
In an instant, the woman was aflame, her torn and bloody robes catching fire, screaming with pain as her flesh burned. As the heat increased, the flames feeding upon themselves, on the oxygen in the air around, her skin began to blister and peel, the pain so great that her cries began to fade, her lungs unable to generate the air necessary to scream.
The sight of the burning woman incited Xander to greater efforts for a moment until he caught sight of the next woman on the platform, suspended in the same manner as the first, a similar pile of kindling beneath her feet.
As he made out the pale face of the woman hanging there, the importance of rescuing the burning woman faded, her plight no longer important to him despite the fires. For the woman to whom his attention was now drawn, was not focused, was Willow, her face wet with tears, crying out to him as she saw him amidst the fast moving figures separating the two,
Xander screamed with rage as he raced forward, his movements faster than before as he ran, trying to fight his way thorough the crowd in front of him, the going made more difficult by the sheer number of black figures now trying to stop him.
A tall black figure rose in front of him, a glimpse of white skin showing beneath the rim of his helmet as he blocked his path, the man's shield slamming against Xander's chest, almost throwing him to the ground, the following sword thrust only just deflected by Xander's own desperate movement of his sword.
A rapid exchange of blows continued, the sound of metal on metal filling Xander's ears, blocking out the noises around them until broken by the scream coming from Willow's open mouth as the bullwhip landed across her back, breaking the skin, marring its creamy surface.
'Xander!!!!,' her cry filled the air, the pain behind it cutting Xander to the core as he fought to get past the man before him.
The battle continued, neither man able to land a crippling blow as the whip continued to swing, lashing Willow's small form again and again. Xander could not seem to find his way past despite his increased efforts, the speed of his opponent still enough to prevent him breaking through.....
'Very well,' the sound of the lead scientist filled the simulator room, the goggles and screens of the scientist displaying the battle before their eyes. 'The subject is performing as expected. The sight of his friend is encouraging his efforts, but his subconscious is still telling him that this is still a simulation. It is time to bring reality back into his world.'
One of the soldiers in the room was holding a short whip in his hands, not the same size as that featuring in the simulation, but dangerous looking enough to an impartial observer. He stepped behind the terrified figure of Willow, still bound in the device across from Xander.
At a signal from the scientist, his swung his whip, sending it lashing across Willow's small frame, crashing against her back, a scream of pain breaking from her lips, against her will....
....in the simulation, Xander was still fighting the man before him, each lash against the woman on the platform cutting across his mind.
As the whip landed across Willow's form back in the lab, the soldier's action replicated itself within the fake reality in which Xander was immersed, the green figure's whip matching the movement of the lash occurring in real life.
Xander could only feel anger and fatigue as he fought, having to watch his sister figure being beaten before him, but when the first stroke landed back in the room, when the soldier's first strike made contact with the real Willow's body, everything changed.
A part of his subconscious reacted to the blow, surging up from that part of mind that remained from eons before, that area of the mind that stored the most primitive instincts, that held the most basic of drives.
Without understanding, without knowing that what he was seeing was any different than before that last stroke landed, Xander's body reacted, driven by an impulse older than time.
The speed of his blows increased, his movements becoming more rapid than before, his sword swinging and slashing through the air, driving the tall figure before him further and further back, his shield unused, abandoned as he attacked.
Adrenalin coursed through his body, combining with chemicals not normally present in the human form to send his muscles into a frenzy. As each successive blow landed on Willow in the lab, replicated in front of his eyes, his reaction grew, his movements growing faster and faster until they were almost a blur.
The soldier's whip continued to fall, stroke after stroke in a smooth rhythm. Smooth at least to those watching. For Willow, each strike was merely pain, then more pain then more.....
Her thin cotton top, all she had worn in the time she had spent here, was quickly shredded, torn apart. Her skin began to shred under the pressure of each lash, blood oozing out, then more quickly as one stroke was overlaid on the next.
She screamed in agony, her back bucking with each impact, but her screams had no effect on the soldiers and scientists around her.....
.....but each of Willow's scream were heard clearly within Xander's world, each cry of pain cutting through the air towards him, forcing him forwards, faster and faster.
Suddenly, the figure in his way was down, his head sent tumbling across the ground as with a viscous strike Xander decapitated him with one blow, his sword cleaving through the man's neck, cutting through bone, sinew and muscle in the process, his blood coating the ground around him.
Even as the sword passed through to the other side of the man's neck Xander continued his advance, slashing his way through the figures in his way, no longer aware nor caring whether those who crossed his path were fighting with him or against him. His movements continued at a speed almost faster than a man could perform, his sword weaving through the air as he went.
As he approached the platform, he was assaulted by a half dozen figures, all attacking him at the same time. Even with his vastly increased speed, he was forced to halt his forward motion to fend them off, the strokes of the whip still lashing across the figure now mere meters in front of him....
'Captain Finn's supposition appears to be correct,' one of the scientists interjected, interrupting their observation of the scene. 'The subject is now performing well above previous levels, well above that of a normal fighter. He appears to be showing increased speed, aggression and skill.'
'Cease,' the same scientist called to the soldier holding the whip, 'Now we see the reaction if the real threat has ended.'
The blows in the simulation continued, no longer matched by strikes from within the lab. The whimpering figure of Willow, still attached to the device around her, ignored as those in the room focused on the artificial scene before them....
....Xander was still swinging rapidly, his sword cutting through the air in ceaseless motion as he fought, cutting down one after another of the figures before him, his face now coated in gore, the helmet lost at some point in the fight, unnoticed, uncared.
As the actions in the lab ended and the whip blows crashing against Willow's flesh returned to simulation, Xander's mind and body reacted without even realizing it. The threat against his loved one had ceased, was no longer real, and at that, his subconscious responded.
His speed dropped without Xander even being aware of it. He was not aware that the scene before him was no longer real, he had never perceived it as being any different from how it had begun. Only a part of his mind had reacted, that animal core of his being, sensing what was real and what was not, and it was that part of his mind that had affected how he fought.
His conscious mind, that area of the brain that controls the higher functions, that thinks it determines what is important, was unaware of what had changed, had never been aware of any difference in the first place, but as the real whip lashes ended and his subconscious retreated, his body acted in response.
The chemical signals faded from his bloodstream, the enhanced speed and strength seemed to drain from his body. Xander still fought as desperately as ever, still slashed and cut at those surrounding him, but with the end of his enhanced capabilities, his fight became too much.
He took a slice to his leg, the tendons above his knee slashed from behind, sending him to one knee, but still he fought.
A thrust from in front, deflected at the last moment by a desperate stroke from his tiring arm sliced through his side, sliding into his flesh, but still he fought.
Another strike from behind, cutting through the back of his upright ankle sent him crashing to both knees, but still he fought.
A cut from behind rendered his left shoulder useless, the arm nearly severed, blood pouring from the wound, but still he fought.
He fought as the blows rained down on him, as the swords of his enemies cut, slashed, and sliced through him, as the wounds on his body weakened his defenses, but in the end it was not enough.
His last sight was that of the fire descending onto the pyre beneath Willow, her agonized expression the final image before him.
And then, as he had countless times before his time in the simulator,
He Died.
Xander came back to awareness to the sound of Willow sobbing from across the room, his own pain immediately forgotten, his own "death" no longer important. As the connections to his mind retreated, as the connections to his body were withdrawn, he could hear her cries of pain, each whimper like a fresh blow to his body.
As the last connection was severed, Xander fell from the chair in which he had been suspended, scrambling across the room towards Willow.
As the soldiers removed the devices holding her in place, she collapsed to the floor, curling in on herself as her body reacted to the pain still coursing through her system, huddling into a fetal ball on the cold floor.
Reaching her, the soldiers not intervening, Xander slid along the ground the last few feet, his knees skating across the floor as he took her in his arms, trying not to touch her back where the bloody marks were evident, seeping through the thin cotton top she was wearing.
Before he could begin to comfort her, the lead scientist broke the silence of the Project's staff.
'Take them back to the cell,' he called to a pair of the soldiers, 'and treat the wounds on her back. We don't want them getting infected before the experiment ends.'
Not watching to see the soldiers carry out his orders, the scientist turned and marched from the room, followed by the large group who had observed the results of the test. As the last left the room, Riley hung back for a moment, savoring the sound of Willow's sobs and Xander's soft whispers, the pain on both their faces, one physical and the other emotional, serving only to improve his mood.
As Riley strode into the large conference room, he could almost feel the excitement in the air, the scientists surrounding him in as near a state of excitement as was possible for them.
'You were right Captain,' called one of them across the room. 'The introduction of the subject's friend clearly affected his capabilities within the simulation. Harris's performance today clearly exceeded any that he has proved capable of before.'
Images from the simulation were filling a number of flat screen displays against the walls of the room, screens full of numbers and graphs filling others. Heart rates, adrenalin counts, measurements of speed, of reflex, of strength, all were shown on the screens before them, every aspect of Xander's performance measured, recorded, charted and displayed for analysis.
'Dr Clark,' one of the those huddled around a smaller computing unit on one of the tables in the center of the room called to the man in charge. 'The computer has completed its initial analysis of the subject's performance, and to be frank, the results are startling.'
Dr Rob Clark turned from his view of one of the many moving displays of combat now showing, his head cocked as he did so.
'Tell me.'
The room fell silent as the small group of scientists focused on the man in the center of the room, clutching a small hand held monitor.
'Until the interjection of subject 269 into the scenario, Harris was performing in line with expectation based on his past performance. Upon the appearance of his friend as a virtual simulation, his heart beat increased by a consistent 5 beats per minute, with smaller surges of adrenaline into his system. This too fitted our past profile, slightly more than in the past but not unreasonably so.'
'And when subject 269 was engaged in reality?'
'Well sir, that's when it changed. The computers are quite clear on this sir. These changes came into effect less than a tenth of a second from the moment the first strike made contact with her body. Harris's heart rate increased by 30 beats in an instant, and I do mean in an instant. The levels of adrenalin in his system doubled in less than 5 seconds, and combined with another chemical we have yet to identify. How the two reacted to each other is still unknown, and it is unclear how with that level of activity in his body he was even standing.'
'The effects, Dr Spiron. What were the effects?'
'Muscle strength is estimated to have increased by 40% compared to prior simulations, based on the initial computer extrapolation of course. Speed is estimated to have increased by 50%, and reflex time appears to have been cut by approx 45%. There is evidence of brain wave activity in areas of the brain typically dormant. There are indications of activity within the gray zone, the cause and effect of which have yet to be established by the initial analysis. Quite frankly sir, the results exceeded our expectations by quite some way.'
'Remarkable. And when the involvement of the woman was ended?'
'Harris's increased capabilities ceased sir. The reaction was not as immediate as when they surfaced. It was approx 10 seconds after the threat ended before the level of enhanced abilities began to drop, and they did not return to prior levels until approx 30 seconds later. His performance remained slightly above trend until the simulation ended.'
Another scientist suddenly interrupted, voicing a thought that no-one had fully appreciated until now
'Sir, there is another thing that came out of this. From Captain Finn's accounts, Harris had been possessed by a Vietnam veteran, but his performance today may show that this was not complete. His performance with the sword was too good to be simply relying on instinct and improved reflexes. It is possible that the possession was more of a warrior spirit than any single entity. We will need to conduct more varied tests to prove this but if true, this could prove invaluable to the project.'
The murmur of the scientists around them reflected the excitement at what they had witnessed, the realization that months of work might not have been wasted after all.
'Captain Finn, it appears that your suggestion has proved successful. The results of this initial simulation alone are grounds for continuing with the experiment, and if we succeed in our aims, your involvement will be noted with the appropriate personnel. If you will excuse us, there remains a great deal of further analysis to be performed. Report to the conference chamber at 2000 hours.'
Dismissing Riley with these words, Dr Clark turned his back on him and returned to the discussion now ongoing in the crowded room, his attention returned to the data before him, the pictures still flickering on the walls beside him.
As Riley exited the room, his usefulness over at this stage, he could not help but exult at the success of the scenario he had just witnessed. The memories of Xander's performance outweighed by the remembrance of the expression on his face when he had tumbled out of the simulator to witness Willow's pain.
He only wished he had been the one to be wielding the crop as it had slashed at Willow's back, to feel it slicing through her skin, to render it as bloody as in the simulation. Riley was well aware that he had sadistic tendencies, but rarely did he get the chance to exercise them, and never before had he the opportunity to develop them with official approval, even assistance.
This was a good day for Riley.
This was a bad day for Xander.
In fact the word bad was so inadequate to describe how he felt that it may as well be meaningless. The pain that still wracked through his body, the bruises caused by the "impact" of iron and steel weapons on his torso, on his arms and legs, was insignificant compared to the pain he felt as he held the trembling body of Willow in his arms.
The treatment of her wounds had been cursory at best, the presence of so many highly qualified doctors in the facility of no help as a field medic had tended to the ragged cuts across her back. In fact the word "tended" was probably taking it too far. There had been no tenderness as he swiped across the cuts with antiseptic swabs, splashing the wounds with iodine and bacteria killing chemicals, breaking open the freshly clotted blood running diagonally from shoulder to hip. The wounds may not get infected after the treatment, but it would not help them heal, nor would go towards helping them mend without scarring.
After the medic had completed his work, the pair had been returned to their cell, Xander half carrying her inside when they got their. The window was dark as usual, almost black, leaving them unable to see out, but this time he knew that they were still being watched from the other side, that at least one scientist had been left to study their reaction after the activities of the day.
He didn't care.
He didn't care if they saw him crying, he didn't care if they saw him in pain. At that moment, he cared only for the woman in his arms, half unconscious.
Xander held her in his arms, taking care not to allow his hands to brush across her damaged back until eventually she drifted into sleep, her cheeks streaked with tears, her face lined with pain. Willow had cried for hours, the pain from her wounds never ending., the soldiers having refused any kind of painkillers, despite Xander's entreaties, leaving her to suffer for whatever reason.
As she finally slept, Xander could not. He stayed with her, unable to leave her defenseless should they return, watching over her as the night passed. The lack of sleep did not affect him, the number of nights he had forced himself to stay awake, anything to avoid the nightmares.
As morning returned, Willow stirred, snuggling against his chest until she twisted slightly, breaking open the newly clotted blood on her back. The action was enough to make her cry out softly, biting her lips as the pain flashed across her, the soft sound causing Xander to jolt upright, breaking the light doze into which he fallen.
'Xander?'
'I'm here, I'm here Willow, everything's going to be ok, everything's going to be all right. I'll take care of you, I won't let them hurt you again' Xander whispered against her hair, trying to reassure her, trying to reassure himself. 'It's going to be ok Willow.'
'No it's not,' Willow replied, her voice muffled against his body. 'You know it's not Xander. We're still here, and they're going to do it again. They want to hurt you Xander, to force you to respond, and they're going to hurt me to do it...'
'Then I won't let them. I won't react, I'll quit,' he responded, trying to convince himself.
'Can you Xander? When they do it again, and you're in that machine, will you be able to quit?'
Xander fell silent, knowing even as he'd said the words that he couldn't do it, that what he was saying could never happen. Immersed in the simulator, his awareness of the outside world gone, he could not ignore Willow in pain, could not fail to respond to her cries for help, whether real or artificial. Helping her, protecting her, that was what he did, what he was.
'They'll come for us again,' she whispered and this time there was nothing he could say.....
Time passed.
Hours.
Days.
Weeks.
Months.
The experiments continued, limited only by the time taken for Willow's wounds to heal. Not completely - they never allowed enough time for that - but enough so that she was able to continue.
Each scenario differed from the one before, some the same as Xander had been forced through in the past, many as new as the first in which Willow "participated".
In all of them, two things remained constant.
The first - that Willow was hurt.
Not just in the simulation, although there she suffered worse, but in reality. Sometimes she was beaten by the soldiers, sometimes she was tortured by some of the scientists, while in others they allowed demons to attack her, to wound her, stopping them only short of killing her.
The second - that Xander died.
Just as before, the scenarios were always ran to his death, never stopping short, never allowing him victory. He suffered in the simulations, both real and simulated pain, but throughout it all, his pain while in the machine was always outweighed by the aftermath.
For each time it ended, Xander had to suffer his own form of torture. To hold Willow in his arms, to listen to her screams, to see her suffering, bleeding.
He had spent countless nights holding her in his arms, smoothing her hair with his fingers, brushing her cheeks. Countless nights warming her, hugging her, talking to her, trying anything that would lessen what she was having to go through.
For he knew that the only reason she was suffering was because of him. If only he had trusted his instincts and his suspicions of Riley. If he had sent Willow home with Tara and Buffy that night. If he had fought harder when they were first taken.
But most of all, he knew that she was suffering here only because she loved him, because she cared for him enough that she would sacrifice her chance to escape in order to save him from harm. That she had stayed, had lost her powers, only to protect him once more.
And in return, she was now here with him, in pain, suffering only because he could not bring back his memories without her, could not meet the project's demands on his own.
He blamed himself.
So every night, he held her, comforted her, watching over her as she slept, quieting her moans, always ready to soothe her when she awakened, screaming from the pain and the nightmares.
He rarely suffered nightmares himself anymore. He had gone past that now, for his nightmares could rarely be worse than his days, could rarely compare to what he had been through, what he was now having to witness. Seeing her pain, feeling her pain, was far worse than any physical pain inflicted on him.
Throughout the months, as Willow was tortured, wounded, injured, Xander always feared the one torture they never inflicted on her.
He never voiced this fear to her, never hinted to her of what he had seen her put through in the simulations. Watching the humans, the demons, with her, stripping her, rap-
<NO!!>
Xander refused to consider it, refused to mention it to her, keeping it to himself. Willow had suffered enough, he only prayed she would be saved that. And so he watched over her each night and each day, whenever they were not forced into the machines.
They spent as much time as possible reminiscing, recalling their childhood, till it seemed that between them they could run through every day of their lives, every trivial detail, every time they had spoken.
They talked of the day they had first met in pre-school. Xander left alone, unwanted in a corner, Willow clinging to her parents.
They talked of their first conversation, Willow shy and withdrawn, Xander trying to make her laugh, overcoming his own fears to see her smile.
They talked of their first kiss, 6 years old, of their breakup over a stolen Barbie doll, hidden away in Xander's room.
They talked of high school, of friends, of enemies, of the people they had known
Larry, Jonathan, Harmony, Amy, still a rat even after all this time.
Of people they had lost.
Bob Flutie, Jenny Calendar, , Jessie.
They talked of Xander's home life, of the beatings, the neglect. Of how parents should be. Of Willow's parents, so driven to success that sometimes they overpowered their own daughter despite the love that was there.
They talked of Xander's sex life, the strange women that always seemed to feature.
They talked of past love, of broken hearts.
Of Oz. Of Cordelia.
They talked of regrets, of lost opportunities and missed chances.
Of Faith.
But mostly they talked of happy times, of lazy days in the park, of nights spent watching stupid movies in his room, of sleepovers and birthday parties.
And of the friends that they missed.
Willow's parents, Giles, Joyce, Anya, Tara, Dawn, Buffy, even Angel and Spike.
So they talked of the demons they had slain, the lives they had helped save. Of the time they first found out about Buffy's calling, of the decision to help her, or at least to try.
They talked of Willow's discovery of magic, of Xander's complete failure at the same.
They talked of prophecies and danger. Of Buffy's death and resurrection at the hands of Xander and Angel. Of the mayor's ascension.
They talked of the college year, of Xander's isolation from the group.
They wept together, laughed together, forgave each other.
For no matter how long it was between each visit to what they called the chamber, no matter how many times they thought it might be over,
The soldiers always came.
Returning to the present, Xander's memories were interrupted without warning by his computer unit began to bleep frantically, the high pitched sound breaking the tense silence that filled the room.
SYSTEM ACCESS GRANTED....
256 BIT ENCRYPTION DETECTED....
DOWNLOADING ALL FILES....
Xander was well aware that he could not break the encryption on any files of importance with the equipment he had brought with him or in the time that remained before any further reinforcements arrived. His unique unit was not designed for that purpose, only to download the information to be accessed later.
The two scientists paled as they realized what was going on. The information stored deep within the mainframe was the results of years of work, almost all highly classified, and all with serious implications if leaked to the outside world.
Should Harris gain complete access to the records of the Institute, should the security layers be breached, he would possess information that could be used to destroy not just this program, but seven other related programs operated across the globe, all unknown by the residents of those countries in which they were ran.
They thought of saying something, of trying to stop him, but in the end they remained silent, unwilling to risk their own lives, to spoil the chance that they might yet live through this.
Xander interrupted the bleeping of the unit, breaking the quiet with a hoarse whisper.
'The one thing I never understood, the one thing you never told us - why Willow? Of all of us, she liked you. She helped you with Buffy, she welcomed you in, she never said a bad word about you, so why? Why did you did it to her? How could you?'
Riley was silent for a moment, watching Xander's face with detached interest, considering his response.
'You think everything's about you Xander? You think we took Willow just because she was with you? Willow was a witch. An increasingly powerful witch, and as such, the Project had every interest in her. We were watching all of you Xander, you were all targets. We already knew about the slayer, we studied her when she was working with us, but there were limits to her usefulness. Willow and you, there was so much more that we could learn.'
'But why did you hate her so much? Willow was your friend.'
At this Riley sneered, his contempt for Xander's weakness overcoming his caution.
'I hated her for what she was Xander, for what she did. She was a witch, a freak. That alone was one of the reasons we were watching her.'
'That doesn't explain it all Riley. Why did you hate her so much?'
'You really want to know? You really want to know? Because when it came down to it, she took your side. I could have lived with that, I never had your trust and I didn't care, but then she started with the others. With Giles. With Buffy. Do you know how much harder she made my job when they started asking questions? She cost me a huge amount of time and effort just because she couldn't keep quiet. Drip, drip, drip with the questions, she never shut up! So much for friendship! And in the end, I wanted to bring her here. I wanted to see her hurting, just like I got to see you hurting. Buffy and the rest - they could be dealt with at any time. But Willow? She would have only got more powerful.
'You did it all to her just because she took my side? You hurt her, tortured her, just because she questioned you?'
Riley remained silent, falling back to his study of Xander, offering no more explanation for his actions.
'So what changed Riley? After all that time, what made them do it? Why?'
His question was met with silence, Riley ignoring him even as he answered the question inside his own head.....
......'What are the results of the last few scenarios Dr Daniels?,' Dr Clark asked, studying three charts on the screen in front of him.
'Sir, it appears that Harris's performance may have peaked. In the past 2 months, there has been no improvement in the stats, despite the differing approaches taken. At this point sir, I do not believe that there is anything left we can do. The change in his performance has been incredible. It proves our theory that by using controlled possessions, we can induce rapid training and instincts far faster and superior to normal training methods, but I would suggest that this experiment has now reached the extent of its useful purpose.'
'I concur. Unless his performance shows any improvement in the next scenario, I will recommend to the board that we finalize this part of the project and that both subjects be terminated.'
'Sir?,' interjected Riley, once again standing unnoticed at the back of the room. 'I believe there is one more test we should carry out.'
'What is it Captain Finn? You've seen the results, and we are grateful for your suggestion that helped produce those results, but there always an end.'
'Yessir, but as I said, I believe there is one more test we should perform. There is only one more step that should be taken. Subject 269, Miss Rosenburg, should be killed, this time for real, as part of the simulation. We can then observe his reaction and measure any response before terminating him in turn.'
'This will have to be discussed within the group Captain Finn, but I will suggest it at tonight's meeting'
'Thank you sir, and sir? I would suggest that I be the one to terminate the woman. I believe it would illicit a greater response given our history and the animosity he shows towards me.
'As I said Captain, it will be discussed.'
Several hours later, the meeting of the core group of scientists was winding down, only one point remained to be considered.
'Dr Clark, I must state that I do not feel Captain Finn should be involved in the termination of subject 269. He is too involved in the project, and frankly sir, I'm beginning to wonder whether his personal motivations are instigating his suggestion.'
A murmur of agreement from a number of other scientists indicated that this was not the sole voice of doubt.
'I may agree with you Dr Daniels, but his suggestion does have some merit. If not him, then how would you recommend we deal with this matter.'
'Sir, while Harris may not care for Captain Finn, it is still the demons to which he reacts strongest, against whom his performance is most marked. My recommendation is that the involvement of one of our Class 2 demons be included in the next scenario in a controlled manner, permitted to kill the woman within the framework of the simulation, and then itself terminated. The death of the woman will occur both within the simulation and within the real world, and Harris's reaction recorded and measured.'
'A show of hands?'
'Then it is agreed. Dr Daniels, we will follow your suggestion in the scenario to be run in 3 days time. I shall arrange for Captain Finn to be off site during the experiment in order to minimize the chance of his emotions interfering with our work. Dr Daniels, please arrange for the simulation to be prepared, and the demon readied. Ladies and gentlemen, the end is in sight. Lets finish it up.'
Riley Finn had been ordered off the facility the next day, having agreed to inspect the security on a new facility under construction back in the US.
The Farlizago demon had been moved from level 5 down to one of the few holding cells on level 6, close to the simulator room.
Agreement had been reached to terminate Xander Harris if no further improvement was noted upon the conclusion of the exercise.
The stage was set.
Back in their cell, it had been almost two weeks since they had last been forced into the simulator, the longest time yet. Willow's wounds had healed, the scabs sealing into scars, one mark overlaying another, broken bones re-fused. Had it not been for the healing spells used by one of the Project's low-power tame witches, she would have been almost unable to walk. The severity of the wounds she had suffered over the months could not have been borne had it not been for that occasional magical assistance, designed to keep her alive for the length of the experiment.
They had not allowed themselves to hope that the last scenario would be the end. There had been breaks before, gaps in time which had raised their hopes, only to see them crushed when the scientists returned, and once again, their fears were justified.......
........Xander found himself in a familiar graveyard, a place he had spent far too many nights, far too much time. In the center of his hometown, the cemetery held too many bodies for its small size, graves packed tightly together.
As usual it was night, by the watch on his wrist approaching 11 o'clock, and once more he was in front of a familiar grave.
His mind was caught somewhere between reality and suggestion, as his brain tried to piece together the tangle of thoughts The simulator taking him back to the past, a part of him trying to maintain the images of the present.
'We're in trouble Jessie. Willow and I, we're in big trouble. It's not like before, we can't just fight our way past the demons this time. We were betrayed by a friend, and Willow, she's hurting. They've been hurting her really badly man, and I think.......I think they're going to kill us, to kill her. I can't see a way out Jess, so if you could help me out now, I'd really appreciate it.
The grave remained silent, the night air unbroken as he knelt, unmoving, tracing the inscription on the tombstone.
'I didn't mean to kill you Jess, you know that don't you? It was an accident, but I know it was what you would have wanted. Only.....it looks as if we might see you sooner than we all thought. Funny huh? Who would think that none of us might make it past college, even if I didn't go?'
Xander's words were interrupted from the cry from across the graveyard, the sound disturbing the silence, breaking the peace.
'Xander!!!!'
And with that, the simulator took over, the neural connections making this into reality, his partial memories of the real world, of Willow, overtaken once again by the world in which he found himself in.
Xander turned to find the group running toward him, Buffy leading as usual, Tara and Anya following, Giles bringing up the rear, clutching a book as he ran, none of them looking happy.
'Xander, they took her, they got Willow, now come on, we have to go,' Buffy called, skidding to a halt in front of him, the others piling up behind her.
'Who got her? Where is she?'
'The Farlizago demon. Remember the ones we killed last week? One of them got away and it looks like it teamed up with a bunch of smaller Ginzas. They're trying to sacrifice Willow to bring back some dead higher level demon, Karankados, Karakodis....'
'Karinkodis,' Giles interjected with exasperation. 'Don't you ever listen?'
'Whatever. We need to go, they're heading for the caves.'
Grabbing him by one arm she turned away and started running, handing him a crossbow and small axe as she went. Giles and Anya were armed with smaller knives but larger crossbows, while Tara carried only a stake, relying on her magic for the rest of her protection.
Buffy of course was strewn with weaponry, an axe in one hand, sword in the other, and a row of wooden stakes strapped around her left thigh. As they sprinted across the cemetery, Xander could only gasp out,
'Don't we need crosses and stuff? We haven't even got any holy water?'
'That doesn't work, you already know this Xander. I know you're worried, but for god's sake, keep up,' Buffy replied, showing no signs of fatigue as she ran, only the furrows on her brow indicating her worries for Willow.
Within moments, they reached the entrance to the graveyard, piling back into Giles's Citroen, Buffy and Giles in the front, the two girls and Xander clambering into the back seat, trying to keep their weapons from impaling each other as they went, the tires screeching as Giles stepped on the gas.
'We should have enough time,' he shouted over the grinding of gears. 'The ritual can only be completed at midnight, and Ginza demons aren't that tough, I don't know why he hired them. They're going to be in the same cave as last time, so if we can keep the smaller demons away, Buffy should be able to take out the Farlizago.'
Ten minutes later, with a screech of worn tires and faded brakes, the car slid to a halt, black streaks of rubber left along the road as it skidded. The group piled out, the entrance to the caves just yards away, readying their weapons as they strode.
Ducking through the entrance, Buffy led the way through, Xander covering her back as usual, Giles heading up the rear, protecting the two girls in front of him. The walls of the small tunnel dripped slightly, moisture running down the walls, adding to the dank atmosphere.
Trudging through the tunnels, marching as fast as he could, Xander could feel his heart beating frantically, trying to control the fear he could feel as they approached their destination.
Suddenly they arrived at the entrance to the cavern deep inside the rock. They paused, hidden behind a rocky outcropping while Buffy scanned the open space beyond.
'Looks like 20 or so Ginzas with the Farlizago. They've got Willow at the far end of the cave, and she's tied to some kind of pillar. It doesn't look like they've hurt her so far but we have to get moving. Anya, Giles, you try and pick off the Ginzas. Tara, you keep them away from the other two with the repeller spell you've been working on. Xander...'
'I'm coming with you. If you're taking on the big mother then you'll need someone to watch your back.'
'Xander no, you should...'
'I'm coming with you Buff. They've got Willow and you need someone to keep the others off you while you're fighting. Anya and Giles will back us up but I'm coming with you.'
Buffy glanced across at him, at the determined expression on his face. She knew he'd do what he felt was right, no matter what she or anyone else said, the same as he always had done.
'Ok. The rest of you ready?'
A soft chorus of agreement came from the small group behind her, their voices muted in the darkness.
'Lets go!!'
With a cry, Buffy leapt into the torch-lit room, the rest of the gang following close behind. As she landed on the rocky floor, the nearby demons backed away, forming a semi-circle around the small group, the larger Farlizago demon crouched behind them.
The two groups stared at each other, not moving, not speaking, facing off across the space separating them. The Ginzas, 5 feet tall, were baring their 6 fanged jaws, a horrible purple fluid dripping from their teeth, feet clawing at the rock beneath their feet.
'Krenaga flurangi !!!
With a sudden cry the demons charged, following the order of their employer, still squatting further back in the cave. They screeched as they ran at the humans, undulating wails emanating from their mouths.
The first wave was cut down in an instant, arrows from Giles and Anya piercing the skulls of the foremost pair, Buffy and Xander slicing apart the next pair, cleaving the misshapen heads apart, sending their brains splattering across the floor.
Even as her axe was pulled from the demon's head, Buffy was charging, hacking and slashing as she ran, heading straight for their leader. Xander tried to keep up, delayed by the bodies in front of him, tripping over the first one, falling to one knee.
Behind him, Tara conjured up a shimmering shield in front of the trio, protecting them from the immediate attentions of their attackers. The shield could not protect them completely, the demons throwing themselves against its surface were rendering it with their claws, shimmering ragged lines created with each slash, cutting into the protection. The constant murmur from the blonde was enough to maintain its solidity, renewing the barrier as quickly as she could.
Beside her, Anya and Giles were firing as fast as they could, the efforts made more difficult by the need to dodge the claws of the demons when they rendered through the shield, slashing out with their knives when a demon got too close.
Xander struggled to his feet, fending off a demon with his crossbow, trying to use the axe in his other hand. As he swung it, the spiked end ramming into the attacking demon's leg, the Ginza's fist slammed into the crossbow, splintering, shattering the firing mechanism, rendering it useless in the process.
Buffy's axe had done its work as she ran, littering the floor with another 4 bodies, their innards left pooling as she headed towards the Farlizago in front of her. As she reached it, the crouched figure suddenly rose to its full height.
'Oh Shit!,' she cried out, 'Giles - this one's an awful lot bigger than the ones we killed last week!'
Xander sprinted towards her, swinging his axe as he did so, cutting another demon in half, its legs toppling to the floor. Its upper body flew through the air, crashing against the nearby wall, sending a fiery torch crashing to the ground, igniting the body in the process, sending flames licking upwards.
While the torso was flying through the air, Xander continued to run, spotting another demon bounding towards Buffy's unprotected back, her attention focused on the huge beast in front of her. The Ginza was in mid leap when he acted.
Unable to reach her in time, Xander was left with only one option. Spinning around, he let the axe go, sending it whipping through the air, spiraling as it went. Its metallic surface reflected the flames of the torches around the room, the orange fire turning the axes blade into a golden weapon of death.
It span in slow motion, circling, twisting, spinning as it went and Xander could only watch it as it went.
The demon was only inches from Buffy's neck, its fangs extended, when the axe made contact, its blade slamming into its body, carrying it past her and on to land at Willow's feet.
She barely had time to gasp a word of thanks as she fought, ducking and diving beneath the wild swings of her attackers limbs, avoiding the serrated claws and spikes that substituted for its fingers. She was swinging her own axe as she moved, slicing away at the demon's torso, cutting into its limbs, driving it backwards.
Nearer the entrance, the trio continued to hold their own against the assault of the smaller Ginzas, the deadly arrows of Anya and Giles killing one after another of the demons, Tara's shield still holding against their assault.
With the number of Ginzas dropping rapidly, it seemed that they were going to succeed. Xander didn't have time to relax though, three Ginzas racing towards him, screeching as they came.
With his crossbow broken and his axe gone to save Buffy, Xander did the one thing that made sense to him under the circumstances,
He ran.
His muscles strained with the effort of running full out, his breaths coming as gasps,
He ran.
As fast as he could, as hard as he could, his heart pounding, his pulse racing,
He ran.
Straight at them.
Even as they reached him, their jaws wide open, he dived, his muscles extending as he soared over their heads, flying through the air in a graceful somersault. His motion was perfectly smooth, almost balletic in its fluidity as he moved through the air. The watching Anya could only admire his grace.
As he passed over their heads and landed on the floor behind them, Xander's hands reached out, ready to continue his movement into a smooth forward roll. Unfortunately for him, the rock on which his left hand landed shifted under his weight, sliding away from him.
Instead of the slick athletic movement he had planned, Xander ended up crashing against the floor, his body sliding behind him until he impacted against the wall, momentarily stunned. One of the demons over whom he had flow was racing toward him, only to be sent crashing to the floor just yards from his body as an arrow slammed into its back, its jaws breaking as it landed.
With just 4 Ginza demons left, and two arrows flying through the air, the threat appeared to be ending, even as Buffy continued to fight with their leader.
As the last two demons attacking the trio were cut down by the lethal arrows, Xander concentrated on keeping the two still attacking him at bay, wielding the flaming torch he had snatched from the wall as if it were a sword, thrusting it in the demons' faces. The flames were enough to fend them off, at least until Giles arrived behind them, catching them by surprise as he buried his blade deep inside one.
That distraction proved enough for Xander. As the last Ginza turned to face this new threat, he thrust his torch at the demons head, igniting the mane of green hair that ran down its back, sending it squealing away as it ran from the cave, the flames spreading across its body.
Turning back to Buffy's battle, now the only one in the cavern, they watched as she fought, the two combatants being in stark contrast to each other.
One was a huge beast of a creature, 7 foot tall, gray flesh mottled with darker blotches, its huge arms finishing in those serrated edges. Its giant torso was marred by repeated slashes from Buffy's axe, its green blood flowing down its body as it swung its massive limbs wildly through the air.
The other was Buffy.
Her petite frame was still untouched, the demon having failed to make any contact despite its extra reach. She fought like a dervish, ducking and diving, wielding her axe and sword at the same time, simultaneously slashing at the demon, wounding it with every stroke as it tried to defend itself.
'Oh for gods sake,' muttered Giles to himself. 'Just finish it.'
Losing patience with his slayer, he took the crossbow that Anya was still carrying, reloaded it and fired.
The arrow sped past Buffy's ear, missing her head by inches, but burying itself in the Farlizago demon's throat, driving into thorough the spinal cord in an instant, sending the demon crashing to the ground and ending the fight abruptly.
'Hey!! I was having fun,' Buffy complained as Xander picked himself to his feet.
'Um guys? Still tied up here?,' Willow interrupted Buffy's tirade before it even began, as the group began to relax.
'Stage 2 ready. Bring it in, but for gods sake, don't let it loose.'
The scientists has watched as the battle had continued, slightly surprised by the speed with which it had ended. No matter, the real battle was only just to begin.
As the Farlizago demon was brought into the simulator room, its movements controlled by the leashes that secured each limb, those leashes in turn gripped firmly by the squad of soldiers, it snarled incomprehensively.
A number of the scientists left the room at this point, granting more room for the demon and the soldiers, moving to a secondary observation room that was occasionally used.
'Initiating stage 2'
Xander was just in the processing of severing Willow's bonds, hampered slightly by the greasy fluid that seemed to be soaked into the ropes around her wrists and ankles, when the group heard the sounds.
Pausing in his work, Xander could only watch, horrified, as holes appeared in two places on the cavern walls, the rock sent tumbling inside as huge fists punched through, clawing their way into the open space.
From the same entrance they had used to get in, poured another horde of Ginzas, at least as many as before. That would not have been a problem for the group save that this time there was not one Farlizago demon, but three, each as big as the one Giles had just finished off.
The rush of advancing Ginzas were halted momentarily by Tara's hastily thrown up shield, but the speed and suddenness of their attack had prevented her from completing it. In moments they had broken through, racing on towards the small group. Giles and Anya managed to pick off a few with their crossbows but all too soon the demons were upon them, forcing them to use their bows to fend them off, slashing at them with the knives.
As Buffy moved to face off the Farlizagos, Xander snatched up his axe, tearing it from the fallen demon's body with a squelch, and hurled himself back into the fight, hacking and slashing at the Ginzas that surrounded his friends.
This time the battle was not so easy. With the shield down, the quartet were forced to fight at close quarters, leaving Buffy on her own. As the axes, knives, claws and spells cut through the air, she whipped her blades at two of the demons, forcing them to engage her.
This was not enough. Even with the Ginzas and two of the Farlizago demons fully engaged by the group, there still remained one more, and this one headed straight for the still-bound Willow.
As it reached her it paused, studying her bound frame, and then, without warning, it reached out with one long arm and slashed her across the stomach, tearing through her clothes in an instant.
Willow's screams filled the simulation room as the demon slashed her, the blood splattering across the faces of the soldiers who still limited the demon's movements. Had it not been for them holding the demon back, it would have killed her with that one slice of its claws, but instead it merely cut deep into her belly, tearing through skin and muscle.
At the sound of her screams, Xander reacted as he did in each and every simulation. The moment Willow's pain became real instead of simulated, his mind and body responded, his actions speeding up, his reflexes suddenly increasing.
The Ginzas that surrounded them couldn't have known what was to happen as he ploughed through them.
With every slash of his axe, every swing of his blade, he seemed to make contact, carving limbs from bodies, heads from torsos. His path became a tunnel of death as he forced his way through, heading towards both Buffy's battle and Willow's torture.
He made rapid progress through their ranks, leaving a trail of bodies as he ran, the claws of those he faced marking his body, his legs even as he went, staining his torso red with his own blood, but no matter how fast he was advancing, no matter how many demons he cut down, there always seemed to be more, streaming into the room as fast as they were being cut down.
Giles, Anya and Tara were now focused only on keeping themselves alive, their backs to one wall, while Xander and Buffy fought, slashing out with their knives and bows to fend off those assaulting them.
Even as Xander fought his way through the swarm around him, the Farlizago demon continued to assault Willow, her bound body unable to fight back, to flee. Her screams echoed around the cavern, bouncing off the walls, assaulting his ears.
As he finally made it past the last Ginza in his way, the valiant defenses of the trio behind him failed, Tara the first to fall. Her spells could not stop one of the demons breaking through, its jaws fastening themselves to her leg. As her defensive chant faltered, a second demon slashed her across the throat with its claws, tearing deep into her voice box, shredding the flesh. As the blood gushed from her throat, she was unable to even scream, only a gurgle making it past her lips as she fell, crashing to the ground.
Her fall was enough to caused Giles to falter, the impact as her body crashed against his legs enough to send him off balance as he struck out at another demon. Catching it across its shoulder joint instead of its neck, the injury was not enough to halt the demon's leap, leaving it still able to crash into his body, its claws slashing as it came. As he went down under its weight, two more piled on top of him, their claws and teeth extended.
Anya lasted only a few seconds longer, the desperate swings of her knife and bow enough to delay them for only a short time. With Tara and Giles down, the sheer number of demons overwhelmed her, ripping her apart in moments.
Xander was only dimly aware of this, all of his concentration focused on the red haired woman in front of him, all his efforts towards her aid. As her screams continued, as the demon continued to slash and rend, he became ever more frantic in his efforts.
Just as it seemed he would be able to reach her attacker, Buffy was sent flying across the room, the effort of fighting both demons at the same time in the confined space proving too much. One hard swung limb, one missed block, was enough to send her soaring through the air, crashing against the side wall, out of the fight for the time being.
Xander was then faced with all three demons in front of him, and a handful of remaining Ginza demons behind. Despite the odds, he charged forward, snatching up Buffy's fallen axe as he did so, now gripping one silver blade in each hand.
Back in the simulation chamber, Willow's body was covered in blood, the teeth and claws of the restrained demon rending into her, tearing her apart. Only her face was untouched, the demon unwilling for some unknown reason to mar its surface.
As the scientists watched, Xander's body chemistry and stats reached the same levels as before, and once more peaked.
'No further change,' called Dr Daniels.
'It's time,' said Dr Clark through the speakers from the observatory. 'Finish it.'
Xander had continued to fight, the twin axes cleaving into the demons facing him, almost ignoring the smaller attackers behind him except when he felt them against his body. The occasional vicious slash behind him was enough to keep most of them at bay as he continued to attack those separating him from Willow.
The speed of his axes was a blur, the two blades criss-crossing each others paths as they flew through the air, the complicated pattern preventing the demons from reaching him.
Even as the scientists were speaking back in the real world, his axes carved into one of those facing him, sending it smashing to the ground, its head flying through the air, cleaved from its body, brains coating the metal blade.
As he flung himself towards the second, a lucky strike made it past the demon's flailing limbs, the ax burying itself deep into the armored torso, severing the spinal cord which transmitted the signals from its brain, leaving only one more between Willow and his racing form.
The Ginzas behind him were ignored, their claws that slashed at his legs and back disregarded as he ran.
As Dr Clark's words faded from the speaker, the soldiers that still controlled the demon loosened their bindings, granting the demon additional reach. It responded immediately, bounding forward, jaws snarling as it came.
As it reached Willow, it slashed her once more, cutting deep into her body, and then, with no further warning, it plunged its fist into her belly, ripping deep inside her.
The soldiers immediately pulled it away, stunning it with their phaser guns, sending it to the floor, writhing in pain, preventing it from killing her immediately.
Despite his speed, Xander was still yards from the demon when it made its first blow, his axe swinging, still inches away when the second strike buried itself in her belly.
As she screamed, a sound of pure agony forced from her lips, Xander finally reached the demon, his axes cutting it in half, ripping it to pieces in a frenzy of motion.
It was too late.
Xander's mind reacted, rejecting the simulation, tearing him from the artificial world, his subconscious taking over.
His hands reached out, tearing the goggles from his eyes, ripping them from his face and flinging them across the room. His muscles, enhanced by the chemical reactions in his body, tore through the restraints designed to limit his actual movements, breaking the straps with sheer force.
The neural connections attached to his head held him in place for a moment, until he yanked them from their sockets with a sharp movement of his upper body, the electrical signals sending sparks flying through the air.
His eyes shifted frantically in their sockets as he searched for Willow, until his vision crossed her damaged frame. As his eyes locked on her, a cry burst from his lips.
'NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!'
He tore from the chair in which he was suspended, throwing aside the two soldiers that tried to hold him down, effortlessly hurling them across the room, flinging himself across the room, uncaring of those in his way.
As he reached her, he slid along the floor, on his knees, supporting her body even as he tore the straps that held her upright. Willow crumpled with the release of the straps around her wrists, falling into his embrace without a sound.
'What the hell is going on?,' called Dr Clark from the observation lab to the scientists around him and in the simulator. 'How did he get out of the simulation? He should still be immersed within it.'
His frantic questions were met with silence from those around him; dumb incomprehension replacing the normally intelligent expressions on their faces. The lack of understanding would have been almost comical under other circumstances, but at that moment was a terrifying signal that events had perhaps spiraled out of their control.
Punching frantically on his keypad, an alarm rang out in the holding complexes above, immediately locking down the holding cells in the levels above, alerting the troops in both the security room and the barracks below.
'Get in there! Find out what happened!'
Over the sound of the frantic scientists that filled the observatory could be heard the pounding of the feet of the second team working that shift as they raced into position, weapons ready.
The scientists broke free from their stillness, racing to the computer screens around them, hammering on keyboards as they attempted to find out what had happened, their frantic questions breaking their silence as they scrambled around.
To all of this activity, to all of the sounds, Xander was oblivious.
To him, the only thing that mattered was the woman he now held in his arms, her blood spilling onto his black sensory outfit.
He watched as the wound to her belly continued to bleed, her insides visible to his horrified eyes.
Xander couldn't summon the will to speak, his throat choked with tears as he looked down on her broken body, on the wounds that marred her frame.
Willow's eyes fluttered open as she felt his arms around her once more, felt the first of his tears falling to her lips.
'Xander.......'
The sound of her voice broke his silence, shattering the ties that prevented him speaking.
'Willow no!! This can't be happening, they'll make you well. You can't die, you can't leave me, you can't. You can't die, you can't....'
Xander's voice was breaking as he held her in his arms, her blood still pouring from the wound to her body, repeating himself over and over again, trying to deny what lay in front of him.
'Xander, no, it's too late. I know it, I feel it. They won't help me Xander, it was the final test.....'
'Willow no. Stay with me Willow, you can't leave me...'
Willow coughed softly, the action sending a trickle of blood from between her pale lips, the scarlet stream standing out in stark contrast against the pure white of her face.
'Xander, you have to ...... you have to promise me......'
'Anything Willow, anything.' At that moment, looking down on her broken body, Xander would have promised her the world, would have died to give it to her.
'Promise me you'll take care of the others, of Tara, of Buffy. That you'll care for the slayers that will follow if......if it happens'
'I will Willow, I will. I promise'
'Promise me you'll keep fighting, that you'll kill the demons, that you'll make them pay, make the world safer......'
'I will....'
Xander could hardly speak the words, his throat choked with tears.
'One more promise Xander.......promise me......that you'll keep on living. That you won't give up, no matter what.'
Xander tried to answer, tried to give her the promise she needed, but he couldn't force the words out of his mouth. To promise to keep on living after what he had been through, after all that had happened, it seemed too much
'Willow, I.....'
'You have to Xander, you have to. For me, for you, but most of all..........for us. You have to go on Xander, because as long as you do, as long as you live, then I do too. I'll live with you, in you, the same way you've always lived in me. I'm not really dying Xander, I'm just......moving on, and I'll be watching over you, I'll be waiting for you, and I'll see you again but not yet Xander, not soon.......'
Time slowed down as she spoke, more of her life draining away with each word, her life blood spilling from her lips. Xander's fingers were covered in her blood as he held her, his hands striving to stem the flow.
'Promise me Xander. You must! Now promise me!!'
Willow gasped out her words with a spray of blood from her lips, using up her fading reserves to demand his promise. She tried to frown at him, but a flash of pain caused her face to grimace in agony.
But that grimace was enough. The flash of her resolve face acted on Xander as it had done all his life, as it always would have done. His indecision faded, his resolve hardened and he gave her the words that she was asking for, that she was demanding from him.
'I promise Willow. I promise, I love you....'
Willow's body began to glow, power rising from her as her life force gathered itself, concentrating, focusing. Where her hands touched Xander's body, where her fingertips brushed away at the tears flowing down his face, a soft blue glow began, rising out of her, flowing from her and into him, as she gave him the only thing she had left, the one thing that she trusted him to guard for all time.........her soul.
She kissed him gently, her lips touching softly against his own, the glow intensifying.
'I love you Xander.......'
And with those last words,
with that last kiss.......
Willow died.
As Willow's life had ended, the last of her life-force pouring into Xander, the glow around her body had intensified, rippling around the pair in waves, pulsing outwards, stronger and stronger.
As the scientists watched from the room next door, the alarms still blaring, one final pulse of light flashed from her body, filling the simulation chamber, forcing those watching to shield their eyes.
The pulse of light, the sound of the soldiers running, of the sirens blaring in the background – none of these existed in Xander's world. That world consisted only of the two of them, only the small circle of space that their bodies filled, of the lifeless figure in his arms………….
As the burst of light faded in the simulation chamber, the electronic locks on the doors suddenly flared, sparks flying through the air, the secure nature of the chamber immediately compromised.
'What the hell is going on?,' screamed Dr Clark once again as the observation room suddenly came alive with red lights. 'Fix those locks – NOW!!'
'Sir – security's compromised on both security levels, the main entrance and …………..oh shit!! The holding cells on level 4 are open, the demons are loose!!'
'What about level 5? Are they out?'
'Not all sir. Some of the holding cells in level 5 appear to be intact, but the access doors are open. If the demons that have escaped head downwards, there is nothing to stop them. The barracks on level 8 are sealed off, 2nd and 3rd platoons are trapped. We've only got the first wave to secure the facility until we can reroute the power and force the doors open. The elevators have gone into lockdown – the only access is the stairwells.'
At this point the military observer, silent throughout all of the activity, took command, barking orders across the room.
'Very well, send an emergency signal to base. Send all troops outside of the simulator to secure this level and up to level 5. Do not engage the demons until I give the signal. Secure Harris immediately and then move those troops to support.'
As the commands rang out, the alarms intensified, filling the compound as emergency procedure were instigated, the cries of the soldiers as they stormed up the stairs lost amidst the chaos.
The chaos that was not spreading throughout the compound was lost to Xander, the voices, the alarms all meaningless as he knelt there in a pool of blood……
Willow had died.
And with her death the world Xander had lived in, the world he had grown up in, the world he had known…….that died too.
Willow's life had ended, her pain was over, but Xander's pain, that had only begun.
And he would not suffer it alone………………..
As the first soldier reached him, his stun gun ready, his hand outstretched, Xander had still not moved from his position on the floor, his face still wet with the tears that continued to run in a slow, steady stream down his cheeks, his hands still stroking Willow's hair.
And when the crouching soldier's hand landed on his shoulder, another reaching for his arm, he did not react to their touch, did not slap them away, did not try to stop them.
It was only when they tried to pull him away, to separate him from her, to break his grip on her body that he responded.
And that response was cataclysmic…………….
Xander's conscious mind shut down, closing itself off to outside stimuli, to the world around him. It retreated to a small dark place, shutting itself away from what had happened.
And the space was filled with another part of his mind. That part that the experiments, the scenarios, the scientists had spent so much time trying to stimulate, to harness for their use.
Without any time passing, without pause or hesitation, his hand moved and the soldiers died.
He tore the arm that pulled on his shoulder from its socket, the joint shredding and tearing, spraying the soldier's blood through the air, mixing with the red pool on the floor. Continuing the movement of his hand, Xander reached out, grasping the man's throat, his fingers delving deep inside, wrapping themselves impossibly around the soldier's windpipe and then ripping it from his body, breaking his spinal cord instantly, the body simply crumpling to the floor.
The soldier whose hand pulled at his arm escaped such a death for a moment, even as his wrist was snapped, the bones shattering under the skin. But that moment ended, as all moments do, and when it did, he died too.
Xander's hand, still coated in the blood of the first soldier's throat, had broken the man's wrist with a vicious twist, but when it continued upwards, smashing into the exposed face, and shattering the nose, the impact was devastating. Fragments of gristle and bone were simply propelled inwards and upwards, driving through his head, piercing his brain, killing him instantly.
In the midst of killing the two, in the course of snapping throats and destroying brains, Xander had never changed his stance, still on his knees amidst the pool of Willow's blood. His right hand hadn't moved from his position, still supporting Willow, holding her against his chest.
He had killed the two in the blink of an eye with his left hand, and when the bodies of the two soldiers dropped to the floor, his only reaction was to wrap his left arm around her too, enveloping her in his embrace, even as a keening sound escaped his lips.
The bodies of the soldiers lay there for a moment until Xander suddenly thrust them away, releasing his embrace only to shove them from Willow's body, pushing them out of that small circle.
The cameras that had been recording the room, that had been relaying the pictures into the next-door observatory, had seen it all. They had captured every moment of the experiment, from the entrance to the room to Xander's explosion from his chair.
The scientists had also seen it all, both those in the observation room and those present in the simulation chamber itself. But when the soldier's bodies crumpled to the ground, not a single soul realized what had happened.
They had all been watching, they had seen the soldiers reaching the kneeling form, but the speed, the suddenness of the reaction was beyond them. Only when the soldiers made no further movements, when their blood spilt, and when the scientists realized what it was that had been thrown across the room, did they react.
And that reaction was panic. The soldiers who had poured out of their barracks at the first alarm were still passing through, and the scientists first response was to send a squad inside, their weapons, both stun guns and machine pistols, at the ready.
As the group entered the room, their attention was drawn instantly to the scene at the far side. Xander knelt there, his backs to their approach, ignoring them. The floor around him was simply awash with blood - his own, Willow's, the soldiers'.
Between the advancing troops and the figure across from them were the other soldiers and scientists that had been present during the experiment. The Farlizago demon lay to one side, still stunned from the blasts it had taken from the restraining soldiers, its claws still coated in its victim's blood.
None of them had moved in the time between the death of the first pair and the entrance of the new troops, the suddenness of the event had simply rendered them unable to respond. By the time they realized they needed to help their colleagues, the bodies were already lying on the floor, unmoving, lifeless and nothing they could do could change things.
As the last of the support team crashed through the door, their boots echoing around the confined space, the scientists retreated to the sidewalls, clearing a path to the huddled form.
Four of the troops approached the crouching figure, their tasers extended ahead of them, cautiously stepping closer and closer. As they reached Xander, two of them gripped him by the arms, the second paid holding the stun guns inches from his neck.
Without trying to break Willow from his grip, the pair pulled him upright, his body rising from its knees, lifting her effortlessly, turning to face those surrounding him. As he turned, lifting his head for the first time since breaking his restraints, the cameras and the men and women around him saw his face for the first time.
His expression was enough to cause a number of the troops to take a step back. There was no expression of rage or anger on his face. No sign that he might attack them or fight back against them.
Instead it was the lack of expression that caused them to pale. Xander's face was chalk-white, every scar, every cut, and every mark standing out in stark contrast. Even his lips were pale, bloodless, clenched tight against his teeth.
The only color on his face was the red droplets, the scarlet streaks that ran across his face, overlaying a number of the scars, clouding one eye. His face was not coated with the blood, despite the volume of it that covered the floor, nor was his hair matted with it. Instead, the lack of such a quantity only served to draw attention even further towards it, making its point even without excess.
But the blood that speckled his visage, that dotted across his forehead and nose, was only the first thing that those watching him observed. As they gazed on his face, all eyes were eventually drawn to Xander's, to his contact with the visual world, and it was these eyes that caused them to pale in return.
Xander's eyes were normally a warm brown shade, hazel in color. In another world they had shone with life, showing clearly every emotion that he had felt. Those who knew him well could read him through those eyes, read how he was feeling, happy or sad.
Willow had been one of those. The best of those.
They say that the eyes are the gateway to the soul. That everything that is important to a person can be seen in their depths if you look deep enough, if you look hard enough.
If that was true then what was important to Xander was gone forever.
For in his eyes could be seen nothing. No light shone there, no laughter glinted. No tears were present, no pain reflected. These eyes were lifeless, dead pools in the middle of his face.
As those watching felt their own eyes drawn to Xander's, they could feel themselves almost sucked into their depths, falling into the bleakness. Xander's eyes were focused on everything and nothing at the same time, not pausing at any one image, not resting on any one person, simply staring ahead at something only he could see.
What was missing in those eyes was that which motivates people, that keeps them getting up in the morning even when all is gone, when they have no hope. They were the eyes of a dead man.
Then, without any change in his surroundings, Xander slowly knelt, still holding Willow's lifeless body in his arms, ignoring the shouts of the soldiers in front and behind him, ignoring the weapons that raised immediately at his movements.
Crouching down, he lowered Willow to the ground, his actions almost in slow motion, supporting her gently as he did so. As her weight reached the ground, he released her body gradually, laying it down with almost tender care, laying her arms across her chest, straightening her limbs.
He knelt there for just a moment, head bowed, and then, reaching out with one hand, he gently stroked downwards across her face, closing the lids of her eyes, shielding them from the world.
Before soldiers behind him lost patience again, Xander stood, rising to his feet almost as slowly as he had knelt, his head still bowed, his eyes staring vacantly at the woman now laid out at his feet.
As he reached his full height, he stood there for a moment, eyes downcast, until one of the soldiers nudged him with the butt of his rifle.
At this contact, Xander raised his head, lifting his eyes to the room once more.
If his dead expression had caused them to pale, if his lifeless eyes had caused them to take a step back, then the expression on his face now was enough to give a man nightmares.
The emotion that had been missing from his face before, the lack of expression that had unnerved his watchers, that was now gone, but what it had been replaced by was even more terrifying.
When they looked into his eyes this time, the dead pools that had been there before had been replaced by hell. Not the hell of today's Christianity, this was not remorse and regret, not the hell of mental anguish, the remembrance of one's sins.
This was the hell of old, of days in the past. This was the hell of fire, of anger and pain, of fury and torment. This was the hell of agony and torture, the hell of the bibles, of the pitchfork. It was the hell of revenge and retribution, of murder and death.
And in those pools of hell, those witnessing could see their own fate in the future, the payment for their life's work, for their life's deeds.
And Xander was the one who would ensure they would meet their fate, that they would make that payment.
In the moments silence that filled the room, nobody moved, the attention of all present drawn to the man standing at one end. The weapons were still trained on Xander, the cameras still recording him, waiting for him to move.
But despite the rage in his eyes, the fury written across his face, it wasn't Xander that made the first move.
The Farlizago demon had been lying on the ground, stunned by the soldiers' tasers, his movements limited by the fetters that had bound its limbs. But with all attention drawn to Xander, those holding it back had loosened their grip on the restraints, had weakened their hold on the demon.
With the smell of blood in the air, with its claws still coated in it from its attack, the demon's senses were heightened. The power of the electricity that had flowed into its body, that had weakened it, was quickly dispelled, and the moment the restraints were loosed, the demon reacted.
Exploding upright, rearing to its full height, the demon wrenched at its restraints, tearing them from the grip of the nearby soldiers, the action pulling them towards it. The shocked soldiers had no time to realize the consequence of their carelessness. As the demon's hands lashed out, slashing their throats with each clawed fist, they lacked even the ability to scream, only a gurgle coming from the gashes created, as bubbles of air escaped.
As the two soldiers were still falling, still dying, the demon kept moving, leaping at the nearest figure around him, the nearest human. Unfortunately for Dr Drake Roberts, the lead scientist in the simulator room, that happened to be him.
He had no time to defend himself from the attack, in fact for the briefest of time, he didn't even realize he was under attack, his attention still drawn to Xander, to the fury in his eyes. Only when the jaws of the demon were closing on his shoulder, when the spikes on its forearms were shredding his body, did he realize what was happening, but it was too late. As the blood flowed, as the demons hands tore through his ribs, driving into his chest, he had no time for any last words, for any regrets. The only thing he had time for in those last few seconds of his life was pain, unbearable agonizing pain.
The only positive thing about the pain was that it ended quickly. The downside to this of course was that as the pain ended, so did his life.
As the remaining scientists scrambled to get away from the blood- crazed beast, the soldiers that still filled the room finally responded. Their weapons spat fire at the demon, spraying bullets at its huge frame. At those close quarters, the bullets could not miss, plowing into its torso, its legs, driving into its body.
The assault slowed the demon for a moment, the sheer amount of lead that poured into its body enough to drive it back a few steps, pushing backwards against the wall. As the rate of fire increased, the weapons quickly drained of ammunition, forcing a number of the soldiers to pause momentarily to reload.
That pause was enough for the demon. As the rate of fire lessened for a moment, it flung itself forward, diving at the legs of the nearest men, hurtling beneath the path of bullets that still flew, crashing into the nearest group.
The men into whom it crashed tried to keep it at bay, shooting it repeatedly at close range. No matter how many bullets they were hammering into the demon, they could not stop it. Having been called in by the emergency signal, they were unaware that a Farlizago demon could only be killed by severing its spinal cord, by breaking the contact from its brain to its body, and despite the damage the bullets were doing, not one of them managed to cut that link.
As the demon shredded all those around it, its arms swinging wildly, howling with the pain the bullets caused, those soldiers with stun guns tried to approach, extending their tasers as they did so, unable to fire immediately for fear of hitting their colleagues and making them more vulnerable to the creature on the attack.
All this had taken less than 15 seconds from the moment Xander risen from the floor. 15 seconds that had drawn the attention of all those in the room away from him, despite the fear that his expression had caused, despite the hell that poured from his eyes.
That lack of attention proved fatal for those nearest to the blood splashed figure.
Without warning, Xander span around to face the two soldiers who still stood behind him, their tasers aimed at his neck. With their attention away from him for a moment, the speed of his spin took them by surprise, and when he reached out with both hands, their weapons were no longer close enough to touch him. With the tasers they may have had a chance, but without them, they were already doomed.
Two fast punches were enough to render them unconscious, mercifully preventing them from even feeling the follow up blows which snapped their necks with sudden force. The blows were made even as Xander span, whipping out so quickly that he continued his rotation without stopping, their bodies crashing to the ground behind him.
With his back now free of potential threats, Xander continued his spin into a low dive towards the nearest wall, rolling sideways as he landed. Continuing his movement, he used his momentum to spring outwards, bouncing off the wall, using his feet to increase his speed to a blur.
His eyes seemed to shift color as he moved, appearing to turn a strange yellow shade as the pupils themselves took on the appearance of a feline's slitted shape, the animal inside him taking over. Any such physical change should have been impossible even as it occurred, a change that could not be explained, was never explained, even in the aftermath, as those who would conduct the investigation would argue over what they were seeing.
Xander's body, his movements, his actions, were no longer under his conscious control, subsumed by the dark inner being that had been drawn out, forced out by what had happened. As he continued his assault, the blood that sprayed, the bones that broke, the screams that rang out, they were all lost to him.
The soldiers in the room tried to respond to the twin threats that they now faced, unable to turn their backs on either figure without fear of attack. The demon still shredded and clawed at them, slowing now as the sheer number of minor wounds, of fluid loss, drained it of strength. The bullets still could not kill it, but the demon was slowly being overwhelmed by sheer numbers. As the tasers and stun rods rammed into its body, only the frenzied blood lust to which it had been raised kept it going, kept it fighting.
As a soldier fell under Xander's attack, his body falling to the ground, back broken, paralyzed, the sight of his combat knife stirred a reflex in Xander's mind that interrupted even the animal fury.
He snatched up the knife without stopping, holding it close to his body in his right hand, gripping the hilt, the blade facing back down his arm, hidden by his wrist. Wielding it smoothly, building it into his animal assault without breaking his smooth actions, he continued on to the next target.
The soldier in front of was bringing his weapon to bear even as Xander turned, his rifle spitting bullets in a continuous stream only for Xander's hand to flash out, slicing across the man's neck, cutting through the jugular in one smooth stroke.
As the man fell, blood jetting from the severed artery, the weapon in his hand continued to fire, his finger locked on the trigger, the death grip continuing even after the signals from his brain ceased. The spray of bullets continued to fly through the air, no longer aimed at Xander, now firing indiscriminately.
That indiscriminate fire proved fatal for a number of the scientists still cowering out of the way. As the soldier had been standing in the center of the room, he had been swinging towards the side wall when turning to face Xander, and even as he fell, that turn had continued, pulling his rifle as he went. The bullets crashed into the scientists, tearing through their white lab coats, splashing them red in the process.
Only two of the scientists died, bullets smashing through their skulls, the bullets crushing their skulls.
A number of the other scientists were more, or perhaps less, fortunate. Instead of dying instantly, their pain ending, the bullets merely smashed into their bodies, destroying shoulders, puncturing limbs, breaking bones. As they were thrown backwards by the force of the impacts, their screams filled the air, for a moment outdoing even the frenzied snarls of the demon, the sound of the continuing gunfire.
Before the dead soldier's body had even hit the ground, his rifle had ran out of bullets, its magazine drained. That was enough to save three of the scientists who had lain in the path of the bullets, but unfortunately for them, Xander had never stopped moving.
The first of the trio had had the reflexes to dive from the initial path of the gunfire, saving his life at the cost of his friends, but his actions were only enough to prolong his life for a few seconds. As his back hit the wall, his eyes only had time to register the boot that was flying towards his face before it impacted, shattering his nose, crushing his cheekbones, rendering him unconscious immediately.
The pair still untouched did not remain so for long. The first had his throat punctured with a lightening fast lunge of the knife, the second was rendered unconscious with a similarly fast knife-handed strike, Xander's rigid fingers driving into the pressure point behind his ear. The power of the strike was enough to shatter the small bones at the side of the skull, sending him into a coma from which he would never awaken.
With all the scientists in that part of the room dead, dying or unconscious, Xander's attention immediately focused itself on the remaining soldiers.
With most of their attention still drawn to the struggling demon at the other side of the room, the speed of his attack had caught them by surprise, even knowing what he had done to the first two soldiers, even after seeing the power in his eyes. Those who had followed the fight were still trying to move into position, their actions hampered by the confusion in the room, their movements and aim hindered by the bodies of colleagues and friends they were reluctant to endanger.
The room was now flooded with gunfire, the smell of the cordite and blood filling the air as blood sprayed, as bodies fell.
The demon was still fighting, still inflicting chaos on the soldiers that surrounded it, slashing wildly even as it slowed. There was no logic in its movement, no control as it fought, crazed by the smell of blood, the taste of flesh, driven almost mad by the increasing pain from its multiple wounds.
In contrast, Xander's movements were a picture of fluid motion, every action flowing from one to the next, never slowing in their pattern of destruction. As he tore through the men and women around him, the soldiers and scientists alike fell in his path, cut down by his boots, his elbows, his fists. The knife he had collected was joined by another, waving, slicing, swirling through the air.
As the soldiers tried to stop him with their guns, tasers, knives and fists, they only offered themselves as targets for his rage. Their bullets couldn't touch him as he span, ducked and dove around the open space. The bolts from their tasers struck only the walls or the bodies of those around them. Their knives were simply swatted aside, sliding past his body as he moved, inches away from cutting him as they sliced the air.
He flung himself towards them, instantly aware of where they all were, knowing without knowing. Once in the midst of a crowd of soldiers, his superior speed and reflexes rendered whatever they tried useless. Xander's fighting style was strange, unfamiliar, their well skilled, well drilled moves not trained to cope with the odd movements that prevented any clear pattern.
Low sweeps would be turned into somersaults, striking out even while in mid-movement, a blur as he cut through their ranks. The soldiers were too close together now to make effective use of their weapons, and their efforts to overwhelm him with sheer numbers failed miserably against his enhanced strength, the enhanced strength that their masters had sparked off.
As the men and women fell, the scientists still alive huddled together, retreating to the walls, curling up on the floor, trying to stay out of the path of the bullets and bodies. Some made it, reaching the walls in one piece, using the bodies of their colleagues to shelter themselves. Others didn't, cut down without mercy by their own men, by the demon, but mostly by the whirlwind of death that Xander had become.
Xander was still cutting, slashing, rending his way through anyone still standing when suddenly there was no more. Even the Farlizago demon had fallen, a random bullet from a dying soldier making it past its claws and severing its spine, its reflexes slowed by the sheer number of bullets that had been poured into it, by the sheer amount of electricity that had been fired at its body.
The room suddenly fell silent. The howls of the demon cut short, the firing of the soldiers' weapons ending as they fell, as their weapons ran dry. Even the screams of the injured had not yet begun, their bodies falling into a state of shock as their minds tried to cope with what had happened.
All this had taken place in mere minutes.
Minutes in which the observers in the next room had been forced to watch in disbelief as they saw their friends and co-workers massacred, as they watched the soldiers who were there to protect them torn apart.
The only person still standing in the room was Xander, his body, once speckled in blood as he had held Willow in his arms, now bathed in it, every inch of his body soaked in death.
His red streaked face, hair now matted in blood, still bore his expression of fury, of rage held barely under control, only a tiny part of his mind controlling that rage, turning him from a crazed animal into a single minded weapon of destruction. His eyes continued to radiate hatred as he stood there for a moment.
The bodies of those he had killed surrounded him, piled on top of each other in places, the body parts mingled together. Those still alive continued to move, but these movements consisted of trying to hide or of trying to stem the blood that poured from their wounds.
None tried to attack him, to stop him, to kill him. Those who thought they possessed the ability to try had already fallen against his attack., all their skills, their training, their weapons defeated.
At that moment, Xander could have stopped, could have ended the carnage. With no more attacks against him, with Willow beyond saving, the animal rage that had carried him this far was no longer required. Until this point, he had been operating on instinct, tearing through the room in a sheer frenzy of destruction, killing with pure passion, tearing apart anyone that stood in his path until there was quite literally no-one left standing.
As his animal rage cooled, as the pure fury that had driven him to this point eased, the other side of Xander's personality resurfaced, the rage in his eyes cooling as he stood there.
Unfortunately for those scientists and soldiers that had not been killed in the first few minutes after he had burst from the chair, that other side of Xander's personality was not the fun-loving, goofy young man that had been brought to the facility over a year ago.
The team of scientists had spent a great deal of time with him in their simulator, trying to bring out his memories. As they had discovered, his possession was not that of the Vietnam vet that had been thought but that of a warrior spirit.
And one thing a warrior never does is leave behind him a potential threat.
Xander was still holding the knives he had torn from the soldiers, blood still dripping from the blades, and he reached down to one of the first that he had killed and stripped the sheaths that were fixed to his hips. Lashing them against his own legs he secured the blades to his own thighs, one to each leg.
He looked around the room, a cold expression now on his blood streaked face as his mind analyzed the situation. Reaching down once more, he picked up the guns lying from two soldiers' lifeless fingers.
And then he killed them all.
The pleas of those who saw his approach, the cries of the wounded, the moans of the dying – Xander heard none of these as he strode through the chamber, death following on his shoulder like a shadow.
The last images that those still alive witnessed were of his approach, of his expressionless, blood soaked face, and last of all, the muzzle of the rifle being pressed against their foreheads.
None heard the shots that ended their own lives, the bullets faster than sound. All they could hear were the shots that were killing their friends, snuffing out lives with every pull of the trigger.
It was no battle.
It was no massacre.
It was an execution
As the shots rang out, the cries of the few remaining troops and scientists dwindled, their numbers reduced with every shot until, with one final crack of gunfire, the room fell silent, even the alarms seeming to fade into the background, as the only person still alive ceased his activity.
Xander was left standing alone, surrounded by nothing but the bodies of the dead, the walls and floor around him bloody evidence of what had transpired.
Of what he had done.
Of those he had killed.
Even as the last of them had crumpled, Xander turned away from the entrance, turning towards the woman whose death had sparked the carnage. Her body still lay untouched in a clear circle, unaffected by the destruction around her.
Her face was still unmarked, its porcelain appearance broken only by the trickle of blood that had escaped her lips, trickling down the side of her chin. Her hair still retained the fiery glow that had first drawn Xander's eyes to her, all those years ago, when he was still known by his birth name. The months they had spent underground had dimmed that fire slightly, the lack of care had left it lank and lifeless for much of the time, but in death it seemed to be shining more brightly than ever before.
Ignoring the bodies surrounding them, Xander strode back to her still form, pacing his way silently as he crossed the room, stepping over the bodies as he went until he reached her.
Reaching down, he gently wiped the trickle of blood from her face, his fingertips stroking across her smooth skin, rendering it flawless once more. As his eyes turned to her face, the grim, cold expression softening, breaking, to be replaced in turn by a deep sadness.
The scientists that had been forced to witness the deaths of their friends and colleagues from the next room had been unable to respond.
Their first instinct to flood the room with troops had been prevented by the immediate assault from the demons from the higher levels. As if drawn downwards, most had poured from their cells and headed instinctively for the lower levels, engaging the troops there in a furious battle.
With much of the compound's troops still trapped in the barracks and rec. rooms on the lowest level, held there by the security systems designed to limit entry access, the limited number of troops that had not entered the simulation chamber were fully engaged in a furious battle for their lives.
They first made contact with the onrushing demons on the stairway between Levels 5 and 6, mowing down the first demon in a compact cross fire, the troops taking cover behind railings and doorways.
With the demons that had escaped from Level 5 being slow to respond to their newfound freedom, the troops were able to force their way up the stairwell, taking casualties at every step.
The limited space provided by the staircase proved to be both a blessing and a curse for the advancing soldiers. While the demons were limited in their attack, unable to charge downwards in sufficient numbers to break through, the narrow space also limited the soldiers firepower.
A suicide charge from one demon resulted in 4 down as the demon flung itself through the air, crashing down on top of them. As it landed on the lead soldier, its sheer weight snapping his neck in an instant, its talons were already reaching out to those following, slashing through flesh and bone, sending their bodies hurtling across and then down the stairwell, their screams ending abruptly as their bodies crashed to the concrete floor 3 levels below.
Private Daniels was the next in line. As his friends were killed in front of his eyes, time seemed to slow for him. He could see the demon reaching for him, feel it's talons thrusting between his ribs, piercing his still beating heart, but even as he died he had time for one final act. Dropping his now useless rifle, his last action was to reach for the grenade across his chest, activating the pressure trigger as he did so.
In the narrow confines in which the battle was taking place, the explosion was devastating.
The grenade took out the Belargan demon that had been following close behind, the shrapnel cutting it to ribbons in an instant, it's purple blood spraying against the walls, flinging its body back up the stairs.
The shockwave from the explosion was enough to blow back the demons who were pouring into the stairwell, causing those following them to pause their headlong rush out from their holding cells.
The majority of the advancing soldiers had been sheltered from the blast by the turn of the stairwell, enabling a trio of soldiers to push upwards in a wedge, reaching the entrance to Level 5 before being cut down in turn by an acid spitting Kelthn demoness.
The speed of their advance however had been enough to allow sufficient troops to reach the entrance to the holding level. Firing as fast as they could, they were able to drive back the demons that had made their way out of their cells, till the entire troop had made it onto the level, sheltering behind the consoles and equipment that stretched down the center of the level's hallway.
The battle continued, the demons pouring down from the level above, supported by the even more dangerous beasts on the level the soldiers had reached. Even as the troops continued to pour through the doorway, they were met by the advancing demon horde until the entire level was filled with the sounds of battle.
The screams of dying soldiers, the screeches of wounded demons, the sound of gunfire, the howls of rage – they rose together to form a cacophony of noise, so loud that even the sound-proofing that ran throughout the compound was unable to stop the noise from spreading.
Even as the battle was raging outside and above him, Xander still knelt over the motionless figure at his feet, his fingers still brushing her hair from her face. He stayed there for what seemed like an eternity, not moving from his crouched position until the noise of the battle above percolated even through the shielded walls of the chambers.
With one last kiss on her cheek, one last lingering look that burned her into his memory, Xander suddenly stood, turning his back on her tiny frame.
His face closed off once more, the softness that had crept over his face as he had knelt beside his murdered friend fading, replaced by the same cold hardness that had shown on his face as he had stalked the room.
Once more his expression was dead, only a glimmer at the back of his eyes indicating the barely suppressed animal fury, the madness that was ready to ignite at any moment, held back only by the absence of any current threat, by the control of his soldier's instincts.
As he paced to the door, he gathered weapons and equipment from the soldiers as he went, utility belts torn from bloody corpses stuffed with ammunition and grenades, pistols stored in a leather belt stripped from a now dead scientist. Only one rifle was taken, slung across his back, twin vicious knives lashed to each thigh, ready to be drawn in an instant, a Kevlar vest strapped across his chest.
In his left hand he held yet another blade, its entire metal surface coated in the green blood of the Farlizago demon the soldier had slashed at in a desperate attempt to save his own life. That had done the soldier little good, his own life terminated as his throat was torn out, but the weapon itself still had a purpose.
In his right was clutched yet another pistol, held loosely at his side as he walked.
Without looking back at the carnage behind him, at the body of his murdered loved one, Xander left the chamber, the horrific scene behind him a testament to what the project had accomplished.
The scientists in the observation chamber next door had watched the entire scene through the still functioning cameras, every action, every death recorded for posterity. They were torn between following the ongoing battle higher up and that going on almost next door, but as the last of their colleagues in the simulation room had their lives ended by Xander's bullets, a number of them finally realized the situation they were facing.
Above them, some of the most dangerous creatures in the world were loose en masse, battling with the soldiers that were there to guard them.
Below them, the remaining troops were still trying to break out of the now sealed lower chambers, the damaged circuitry preventing them from joining the battle going on above.
And in the chamber nearby, the man – or at least what used to be a man – that they had built, that their experiments had created, was now loose, and more to the point, was armed to the teeth and was heading out of prison.
The observing scientists had made up most of those that worked at the facility. Even those not directly involved in the project had been present, the success of the experiments not lost on any of them. All were highly educated, well trained in what they did, at the cutting edge of their fields. Each had served years in their specialty before being granted access to the compound, had served years with the military on top secret experiments.
But at the realization that for the first time they might be under direct threat, that the results of their work might come back to affect them, the discipline that had been drilled into them, that all their training had imparted – that all disappeared.
Like frightened children, they panicked.
While some tried frantically to make contact with the communications room below, desperately trying to get help, others simply tried to hide behind desks and cabinets. The bravest and most afraid had the same reaction – to flee.
Some may have had the notion of trying to help the soldiers fighting above, others to retreat downstairs and try to release the rest of the support troops. The most foolhardy may have had thoughts of engaging their now escaping subject. Most were simply trying desperately to flee to anywhere away from the danger.
It didn't matter.
As they fled from the observation room, they ran straight into the path of the oncoming Xander, and at the sight of them, of their white clad figures, the madness that had flickered at the back of his eyes resurfaced once more, flaring up, blazing up.
The part of his mind that held the memories of his hyena possession rose to the surface, breaking the restraints that his warrior side held on him, fueling his rage. As a dog can be trained to drool at the sound of a bell, the sight of the scientists uniforms produced a similar instinctive reaction in Xander. For months on end, the sight of those uniforms had only meant pain and suffering for him, over and over again, without end, until the final orders that ended Willow's life.
It was no surprise therefore that the reaction of his animal side wasn't pleasant. It was to kill.
To kill any and all such creatures, to wipe out those who had caused him such anguish, such pain, until there were no more left to do it to him again.
Torture an animal enough, eventually it will turn on its owner, no matter how much power that owner may have. And in this case, it was not the owner that had the power – it was Xander.
Throwing his pistol away, his right hand tore a blade from the strap on his thigh, both hands now wielding the razor sharp weapons as he flung himself headlong at the scientists, all restraint gone in that instant.
Had his instinctive respond not kicked into gear, perhaps his response would have been different, perhaps he would have used the guns and rifles, perhaps they would have died quickly.
In a strange way, it was the lack of direct threat that they offered to him that caused them to die the way they did, cut down in flight, throats cuts, spines severed, stomachs gutted.
The bloodshed didn't take long, the speed of his headlong assault too much for the frantic scientists. In moments they were all down, their bodies filling the hallway, strewn from end to end.
From the time the first strike was made, cutting down a petite doctor from behind, to the last, ripping a tall blonde man open from neck to waist, the carnage never ceased. Like the animal that he once was, Xander simply tore apart each and every person that he encountered, his twin blades wielded like claws.
The screams of those dying, the sounds of their bodies being torn apart, carried through to those scientists that had stayed inside, to those cowering in corners, listening to their friends being decimated by their own creation, but in the end their cowardice only served to prolong their lives by a handful of minutes.
As the last of the scientists in the hallway fell to the ground, his blood mingling with those already cut down, Xander's animal never cooled in the slightest. Turning to the doorway from which the scientists had poured, like rats from a sinking ship, he threw himself headlong through the doorway.
Had there been any soldiers in the room, perhaps they might have been able to cut him down with their rifles. Perhaps. But the scientists that had stayed in the room, that had not fled with the rest, posed no danger to the berserker that burst through the doorway.
Racing round the enclosed space, Xander slaughtered them wherever they were. Tearing them from behind desks, pulling them from the cupboards in which some tried to hide, all were found and none spared.
The last to die was Dr Rob Clarke. The scientist that had headed the Logan Project from its inception had elected to observe the final experiment from the comfort of the observation chamber, choosing not to be present in person. That decision had extended his life span as he watched the collapse of his dreams in the nearby room, as he had heard the deaths of his colleagues in the hallway, but with the approach of his creation, his own Frankenstein's monster, it could not keep him alive any longer.
Xander was not aware that the man in front of him was the man responsible for his situation, nor was he aware that it was this man that had given the final order that ended Willow's life.
A movie would have shown a dramatic confrontation, words of accusation flung at him.
This was not a movie.
As Xander's hands reached out, as his thumbs plunged into the doctors eyes, bearing into the brain, tearing the head apart, the only emotion the scientist felt was pain. A pain that fortunately for him ended quickly as his neck was snapped, the spinal cord shattered.
The end was sudden.
And just like that, Xander's rage ended. With the last of his enemies cut down, with no more left to kill, to slaughter, the side of his personality that had executed all survivors of the initial battle resurfaced, changing him from the blood crazed animal that had torn through the white suited scientists and back to the ice cold killer he had been just minutes earlier.
Leaving the room quickly, ignoring all those strewn around, Xander collected the weapons he had discarded in his crazed assault, once more kitting himself out in guns, rifles and grenades, and headed to the stairwell.
To the way out.
The soldiers that fought in the level above had made progress, the demons attacks lessening as the battle had worn on. Had all of the cells on level 5 been occupied, had all of the locks disengaged, perhaps the battle might not have gone their way, but as it was, they looked like winning the fight.
It had not been without cost. Over half the troops were down, the power and fury of the demons that flung themselves at them as if compelled to do so making each one more dangerous than any single soldier.
The infighting among the demons as they attacked the troops had been the other aspect of the battle that had kept them in the fight. Demons are not one big family, not matter what fiction might say. Grudges, vendettas and pure hatred between different classes of the demons had meant that half their time had been spent battling each other rather than the soldiers who were engaging them.
If the remaining troops that had been trapped on the lowest level been able to make it out, to come and offer additional firepower and support, then the battle would have swung decisively in the direction of the soldiers. The situation would have been controlled, albeit with heavy losses, and the soldiers might have lived.
Unfortunately for those still alive and fighting, the troops below them had not made it out of their barracks, despite their best efforts, and the only human that came up the stairs from below them was the one they would have prayed not to do so.
As Xander made his way up to the level above him, he was greeted by the sight of the soldiers backs, all full engaged against the attackers that lay in front of them.
They could not have been more exposed to him had they been standing there naked.
The battle ended quickly.
With no need to protect his fellow soldiers, to control his fire to avoid hitting his own men, Xander's entrance consists of a hail of small, round tubes that flew over the heads of the soldiers in front of him.
They landed just meters ahead of the foremost soldier, distracting him enough to allow one of the onrushing Herannit demons to tear into him, its bony forefinger driving into his neck.
It mattered little. As the grenades detonated, one after the other, the effect was devastating. Each blast had not even faded before another rang out, spraying shrapnel and shock waves from one end of the level to the other.
The impact was equally destructive to both sides of the battle.
The soldiers, who moments ago thought they were on the brink of victory, were shredded. The closeness of the nearest grenade meant that the foremost group of soldiers, sheltering behind a large computing unit in the center of the hall, were cut down in an instant, the hundreds of metal shards slicing through them immediately. Those soldiers that had not advanced as far into the level either met the same fate as those in front of them, or were flung back by the force of the shockwaves. Their Kevlar body armor saved some of them, absorbing the metal fragments as they impacted, but it did them little good.
Even as the last of the explosions ended, Xander strode into the devastation, absorbing every aspect of the situation all instantly as his eyes swept the area. He paced through the soldiers, firing as he did so, cutting them down before they had a chance to recover from the unexpected grenades.
Their body armor could not save them. No army in the world has created armor that will absorb rifle rounds to the head at close range, and so it proved once more.
It appeared that the shockwaves and sound from the explosions had barely faded from the area before the last of the soldiers fell, cut down from the direction they had expected reinforcements to arrive, their help proving to be their end instead.
Xander wasted no time in checking bodies, knowing they were dead even as he moved on to the next, pouring bullets into each as he passed.
The demons had caught most of the blast from the grenades which had been flung into their midst. As they detonated, the bodies of those close to the cylinders were blown apart, flung in every direction possible.
Given the power of many of the demons, it was unsurprising that more survived the explosions than did of the soldiers, but it served them little.
Having finished the last of the soldiers, Xander continued on his relentless path through the level, turning his assault to those demons still alive.
Some of them survived his assault. There are a multitude of demons and an equal number of different ways of killing them, but as the Farlizago demon have proven, not all can be killed easily.
To Xander that made little difference. Those that could be killed by bullets were riddled till the ground could be seen through their bodies. Those that could be killed by blade were sliced apart, their efforts to defend themselves, to fight back against the human that was killing them, almost pitiful in the face of his assault.
Those that could not be killed were put out of action, at least for the present. It is difficult for even the strongest of demons to continue an assault with both kneecaps blown away, and against an opponent with no qualms of sending yet another grenade in their direction, it was almost impossible.
Xander had strode through the entire level almost without pause, his steady pace interrupted only by the need to avoid the occasional demon in his path, by the need to finish off yet another threat, and in all that time, during all of his killing, his expression had never changed, the only emotion that of a steely focus.
The demons still in their holding cells were ignored. They offered no threat to him, and in his current state of mind were irrelevant. Stopping to kill them would only slow him down, distracting him from the one task that still ran through his conscious mind.
Only the small guard detail on the third level now lay ahead, the only barrier to Xander's escape from this place.
And as the cameras showed in the aftermath, as the investigations established in the months that followed, that barrier may as well not have existed, for as Xander made his escape from the compound, disappearing into the jungle, he left no-one alive in his wake………………
DOWNLOAD COMPLETE…………..
Xander's computing unit bleeped loudly and then once more before the screen went blank, its work done. The information held within the facilities mainframe had been copied, still in its encrypted form. Whether it could be decrypted in the future remained a task for others, but there was nothing more that could be done here.
Disconnecting the unit from the mainframe, he once more strapped it against his forearm, lashing it in place in the process, before turning back to the bound figures that lay around him.
Ignoring the scientists and soldiers tied up against the sides of the chamber's walls, his eyes locked with the silent figure on the chair in front of him. Riley had been lost in the same memories until the computer unit's sound had broken the silence.
Xander paced slowly across the room until he was standing directly in front of the bound figure, looking down on the man responsible for what had been for the destruction of his youth.
The pair stared each other in silence for a minute or two until Xander surprisingly broke the quiet, his voice almost reminiscing as he spoke.
'You know, when I left here and returned to Sunnydale, it wasn't the same - I wasn't the same. It took me a long time to get back even a part of who I once was, to get my life back and then…………………..I lost it that too. I thought for a long time of what I would ever do to you if I ever caught up with you, of everything I could do to you.. Then I thought of Willow and what you put her through. Not just the torture but the months before that, when you forced the magic out of her, when you forced the life from her. I remember when you had her killed.'
'I didn't have her killed. I wasn't even there remember? They transferred me offsite before it happened,' Riley tried to argue.
Xander merely regarded him slowly, studying his face, a calm expression on his face, almost peaceful as he continued, an almost questioning tone in his low voice.
'Over the years I've encountered a number of those who made it out of here alive - scientists, soldiers. Under pressure, most people can be made to talk, even those with hypnotically implanted blocks, and one thing I know a lot about now is applying pressure. You were the first to suggest that she died Riley. Worse than that - you actually asked to be the one that would kill her, that would murder her. They might have killed us both anyway when the experiment ended, but you weren't content with that, you had to kill her in front of me.'
'Someone else would have proposed it Xander,' Riley snapped back. 'You really think I was the only one to consider it?'
'I have no doubt you're right,' Xander continued, his expression still serene. 'Had you not suggested it, perhaps another would, but do you think that makes it better? Do you think that it takes away anything from what you did here?'
Riley glared at him, his efforts to free himself from the bonded restraints that held him in place proving fruitless.
'So what now? You're going to torture me? You think she would want you to do this? You think it'll change things?'
The faintest of movements flickered at the side of Xander's mouth, enough to twist the jagged scar that streaked to his jaw. Not enough to be a smile, not enough to be a grimace, just a twitch of his muscle as he continued.
'You never understood me Riley. All the time in Sunnydale, all the time here, all the studying and you still never understood me. No- one here did. Over the years I realized that there is something missing in you, in those who worked here - the ability to determine whether the ends do justify the means, but also something much simpler. You have no concept of the difference between right and wrong.'
'Fuck you Xander. I did what I did and I've no regrets. You think by telling me all this you'll get me to break down in tears – it's not going to happen. You're going to torture me? Go ahead, it won't change a thing.'
Riley was almost spitting in his face, anger overwhelming fear, forcing his hatred of Xander to the fore, trying to change Xander's calm face, to force a response.
'Like I said Riley, you never understood me. I'm not going to kill you, I'm not even going to hurt you. I'm not going to do anything to you at all.'
Riley stared at him in disbelief, unable to believe what he was hearing, studying Xander's expression, seeing nothing but sincerity in his face, in his eyes.
The two scientists still lying against the wall stayed silent, watching the pair in front of them for any signs they might yet be allowed to leave in one piece.
'How would it change things Riley? Would it give me back the months you took from my life? Would it make up for the pain you caused me? For the nightmares? Would it bring Willow back? In the end, what you did here wasn't the worst thing to happen to me, but of course you probably know that already. After all, your government helped them to find me in the first place………..'
'My government?,' interrupted Riley, 'It's the US government Xander. It's your government too.'
'I don't think so Riley. They lost any rights over me a long time ago.'
The rest of the room was silent. The two doctors lay there watching as their attacker spoke, following the conversation as it passed.
'So what, that's it? You just going to let me go?'
Disbelief was obvious in his tone, clearly not believing Xander's statement
'I think you misunderstand me Riley. I said that I wasn't going to do anything to you, that I wouldn't hurt you, and I'm telling you the truth, but you forget that when you killed Willow, I wasn't the only one affected.'
Xander reached down to his left thigh, pulling one of his knives from its sheath, the black surface of the blade drawing all eyes towards it as it seemed to suck the light out of the air. He stepped towards the bound figure, still tied to the chair, fear now evident in his eyes.
'I've carried this with me for a couple of years now. Not because I was actively trying to find you, but because I was asked to. I'm not the only one you had reason to fear Riley, I'm not the only one who has one of these, just for the chance to cross your path.'
Riley was sweating now as Xander reached him, the pores on his forehead showing his fear of the man now standing inches away from him. His muscled frame now shuddered in terror as his eyes focused on the knife in front of his eyes, transfixed.
Suddenly the knife flashed, slicing through the air, its sharpened blade cutting through fabric as if it were silk.
It cut quickly through the tough material around Xander's wrist, the cloth parting smoothly and as it did so, a small chip fell out of the carefully constructed niche within the sleeve of the arm, dropping into the palm of his hand.
The chip was small, only an inch long, less than that across, small gold contact showing at one end.
'You remember how smart Willow was Riley? How good she was at computers? I've only known one person better than her. He lacked only the motivation, but after you killed Willow, and after what the Logan project then did to him…………well, that certainly motivates him now.
This chip was designed specially for this. I never thought it would ever be used, never thought I'd get the chance, but he hates you almost as much as I once did and far more than I do now. I don't need to know exactly what is on this chip, because I know the man who created this. I know what you did to him, what happened to him, and more importantly, I know how he felt about Willow, about what you did to her.
You do remember Oz don't you?'
As he finished his speech, Xander rose once more, turning his back on the bound Riley, stalking across to the similarly restrained scientists.
'Doctor. At this point I request your assistance. I'm going to release you now and you're going to go across to Mr. Finn, untie his legs and help me to escort him upstairs. You are well aware of what I'm capable of so please don't try anything stupid.'
When he finished, he reached down, cutting the ties that bound them, setting them free. As they rose from the floor, rubbing their wrists as the blood flow recommenced, neither doctor made any effort towards Xander, the futility of any such action being obvious.
As they crossed towards Riley, Xander stopped in front of the two soldiers lying nearby. A check of the pulse established that Saunders had already died, the blood loss caused by Dr Marshall's bullets proving too much. His death was almost an anti-climax, passing away peacefully, still in his coma. The second soldier, Harrison, still lived despite the severity of his own wounds.
Harrison stared back at him, too terrified to speak. He had served his country for years before coming here, had seen many things in his time, but what had happened in the last day was beyond him. He could only guess what this facility was for, who this man was, but the peaceful expression on Xander's face at least gave him some hope that he might make it out alive.
Xander looked down on him over the barrel of his pistol, a soft expression filling his eyes. The soldier before him had nothing to do with his time here, had done nothing but serve his country and obey orders. It was unlikely that he even knew what went on at these facilities, or even that the demons he had had to fight existed. In some ways Harrison was the most innocent person in the room.
With a sudden pull on the trigger, Xander ended his life.
<No-one is innocent.>
Xander's expression had not changed. The peacefulness that had shown on his face as he had looked in to the eyes of the wounded soldier had never changed, even as he killed him, and it was that peacefulness, coupled with the suddenness of the shot that sent the two scientists jumping in the air, their nerves already fraught.
Only Riley failed to respond, his eyes tracking the two scientists, still trying to see any way out of the situation, any way he could manipulate those in the room.
'If you please doctor?,' Xander spoke again, the twitch of his gun having more effect on the scientists than his words.
Stepping across to Riley, Dr Marshall reached down to untie his feet, pausing as he realized that there was no way he could undo the solidified plastic bindings with his bare hands. He was just about to speak when the thunk of a knife caused him to jump, impacting point first on the ground, inches from his left kneecap,
Picking it up in a hesitant motion, aware at all times that the man behind him would treat any attempt at using the knife against him with a lethal response, he carefully sawed through the ties, the jagged lower edge of the blade making short work of them, despite the slowness of his actions.
As the knife finished its actions, slicing through the last few strands of the cuffs, he carefully placed the blade to one side, away from his own body, using his body language to try to minimize any indication that he might not be obeying orders.
'Pull him up. Let's go,' ordered Xander to both scientists, including the woman in his command, the barrel of his gun matching his orders, tilting upwards as he spoke.
The two scientists obeyed, gripping Riley loosely by the arms and pulling him upright out of the chair. Had Riley resisted, there was little possibility that they could have forced him, but the sight of Xander's weapon aimed at his forehead provided Riley with enough motivation to prevent this..
As the small group marched out of the communications chamber, the two scientists holding Riley loosely by the arms, Xander following behind, Riley considered making a break for it, of using one of the scientists as a shield, despite his hands still being bound. Had it been under other circumstances, perhaps he would have done so. The fact that he was theoretically supposed to help the doctors, even to obey their orders, was irrelevant - he cared as little for their lives as he would a total stranger.
The knowledge, however, that Xander would not hesitate to shoot either or both of the scientists if he attempted to use them as shields was enough to prevent any such attempt. The execution of the soldier just moments ago served as ample proof that Xander was unlikely to care in the slightest if he was forced into such a situation.
As they made their way out of the level and back into the stairwell, Xander did not pause as he recovered the bulging duffle bag he had carried into the compound, snatching it up from its discarded position on the floor as he followed the trio in front of him.
As they made their way up the stairwell to the level above, Riley ran scenario after scenario through his mind, desperately trying to see a way out of the situation, to think of something he might say or do that might convince Xander not to end his life, or at least that would give him a chance.
But in the end, all such options boiled down to two cold hard facts. The first – that there was little he could offer that Xander did not have already, or could not get for himself.. The second – that any such attempt would simply end his life all the faster.
The only way that he could see to survive was to hope that whatever Xander had on that chip would not end his life quickly. The emergency pulse signal would mean that further support troops would already be on their way. If he could last a few more hours, there might yet be hope for him, little though that might be.
As the small group made their way onto the simulation level, and passed through the doorway, Xander almost hesitated once again, the memories of his time there enough to make him pause once more before stepping over the threshold.
Memories only have the power over you that you allow them though, and there had been worse things in his life than what had happened here, even if that had seemed impossible as he had held her dying body.
He stepped across, following the trio in front of him, as they made their way into the main simulation chamber.
Little had changed in the years that had passed since he had been here. The carnage of his escape had been cleansed long ago, the blood washed from the walls, the bodies removed, until no sign of his time there remained.
Upgrades were evident of course. The computer systems drastically upgraded, smaller and more powerful, the recording devices more prevalent and numerous, but the main focus of the room remained the same.
The simulator.
It still sat towards one side of the room, the wires that used to run around and through it long since replaced by short range radio and electromagnetic pulse generators. There was no need now for any physical connection to the sensory suit – all sensations could now be generated by remote, removing such need.
The straps remained, still hanging from the metal supports, evidence in themselves that experiments were still going on here, that they were still being conducted on unwilling specimens. They appeared stronger than in the past, evidence of lessons learnt, of changes made.
But in the end, it was still the same instrument. The same device that had seen his death countless times, over and over again, that had borne witness to the death of woman who had been the rock on which his life had once been built, that had witnessed what had seemed the worse that he could possibly experience.
<I'm sorry Willow. I'm sorry I couldn't save you, that I couldn't do what you asked. And most of all, I'm sorry that your death is no longer the worst thing at night, that you're no longer in my dreams>
'Change,' he ordered, pulling a simulator suit out of the small unit built into the wall, the suits still hanging in the same place as he remembered.
Riley was forced to obey, seeing no way out of his current situation. Even as the scientists cut the ties that bound his wrists, he was unable to change the situation, the doctor stepping back immediately, anxious to avoid an incident which might displease the dark figure that stood by the entrance. As the blood rushed back into his hands, Riley could only curse inwardly at the situation he was in.
'Doctor, please start the system. You, place him in the chair and set up the goggles,' Xander barked at the two nerve-racked scientists, ordering the female figure of Dr Rhodes to the main control board, the twitch of his gun sending the taller Dr Marshall hurrying back across to Riley, clutching the optical mask as he did so.
'I don't know how the system works,' the brunette woman pleaded. 'I've only been here a few weeks – I haven't conducted any experiments yet.'
The bullet that was sent into her left calf proved to be an ample reminder of the man they were dealing with. As she crumpled to the ground, Xander strode over until he was standing directly above her, looking down.
'Dr Laura Rhodes, age 34, transferred here from Peru 4 months ago. Responsible for the 5th generation upgrades to the simulation software last year. A member of the Phoenix project, responsible for……..'
The gasp from the doctor cut off his recital of facts.
'How………?'
'I read the memo that was lying on the desk of your superior doctor. Please don't lie to me again. Now start the system – you can treat your wound when you're finished.'
The sight of the man standing over her was enough to silence any efforts she might have made at deception. His cold, scarred face alone would have been enough to send her scrambling to obey, overriding the screams of pain coming from her leg, but that face was backed up by what seemed a huge pistol, the barrel of which was aimed loosely at her left kneecap.
Given her knowledge of what he had done over the past few hours, the fact that the doctor had made any effort against Xander was surprising, but the bullet to her leg had ended any resistance in an instant. For the first time, she felt she could appreciate some of the pain that others had encountered in her years working for the military, her privileged mind unable to consider the fact that the pain she was now suffering was but a pinprick compared that which she had ordered without remorse in the past.
As she pulled herself upright and staggered to the console, blood streaming through her green slacks and then through her white coat, the second doctor was already strapping the optical mask to Riley's eyes, placing the contacts against his pupils and adjusting them into position till they turned Riley's eyes gray, the vision goggles that had been used on Xander now long since redundant.
The bullet that had been sent crashing through Dr Rhodes had been enough to prevent Riley and the second doctor of the futility of any action, and this was enough to allow the doctor to usher Riley into the simulator, loosely strapping him down.
The beads of sweat that had been forming on Riley's forehead as he began to panic were quickly absorbed by the suit which now covered every part of his body. The strange black outfit was covered in tiny dots, the millions of sensory input modes which would conduct the physical experience of any simulation standing out against the sheer surface of the rest of the outfit.
As the control board hummed to life, Xander handed the small chip to the still bleeding doctor, no longer watching what she was doing, completely confident that she would carry out his orders.
As Riley watched Xander approach him, their eyes locking through the gray vision shields, he couldn't help but curse at the reversal of their situations. For months he had been the one with the power, the power to control Xander's fate, the power over life and death, and now, all these years later, it was Xander who now held the power.
Even as he considered making one last attempt to break free and try something, anything, he felt Xander tightening his restraints, securing him in place. The restraints had been used to hold demons many times stronger than him, and Riley was well aware of this – he had after recommended it before Xander's escape.
His inner curses were interrupted as Xander spoke.
'I'm going to leave now Riley, and the scientists will be coming with me. As you've probably guessed, you're not coming with us. I'm going to leave you here with Oz's gift – enjoy.'
With those words, Xander simply turned away, leaving Riley to spit curses at his back, striving once again to break loose.
'Is it done?,' Xander questioned the doctor at the control panel.
'Yes,' she replied, her hands clenched around the bullet hole in her leg, trying to stem the bleeding. 'Just press the enter key and the simulation will begin.'
Without another word, Xander pressed the touchpad, setting the simulation in motion, at the same time ushering the two doctors out of the chamber with his weapon, ignoring the woman's attempt at protest as her injured leg was put under pressure.
As they exited the level and proceeded up the stairs to the higher levels, Riley was left alone in the now darkened chamber as the system hummed to life.
<If the reinforcements were sent immediately, they can get here within 10 hours. Xander couldn't have known I got the message out with the dish down. If I can make it through whatever the hell that freak's set up, then I can still make it out of here, and then Xander will know what real pain is. He thinks what I did too him here was bad? I'll show him what real pain is. Those rumors about him? I'll make them look like a fucking day at the beach. I'll find and gut his………….>
Riley's inner diatribe was cut short by a muffled explosion, then another. Even as he thought the simulation was beginning, he realized that the sound was coming from still inside the compound, from the levels above him.
<Oh shit!! That bastards blowing the upper levels. Even if the support teams make it here, there's no chance they'll be able to get past the wreckage in time to get me out alive>
As the final huge explosion could be heard, rocking the compound to its foundations, he could still hear the emergency generators humming in the background, keeping the simulator running despite the loss of the main power.
And as his vision began to change, as the simulation began, Riley's last conscious thought, his last conscious words came out as only a muffled scream of rage and frustration.
'YOU CAN'T ESCAPE THEM FOREVER XANDER!! THEY'LL FIND YOU!!! THEY'LL FIND YOU BOTH!!!!!'
And then the simulation began, and as the shadows crept around him, as the whispering began, all conscious thought was lost, overtaken by pure fear.
All men have something that they fear. Some fear spiders, heights, enclosed spaces. Others fear pain, death or torture.
But in the end, no matter how brave a man is, no matter how well trained he can be to ignore fear, there is always something that one dreads. There is always something that lurks in the subconscious, in the dark areas of the mind where few wish to venture, that a man will dread.
The chip on which Oz had poured all his rage and pain was designed to find that something, to use the subjects own mind to create that which it would most fear.
It succeeded.
It began, not with a flash of light, not a bang, but with just the opposite.
Darkness.
Silence.
Dread.
There is the darkness of night, the darkness of an unlit room, the darkness of closed eyelids.
But those are not true darkness.
That of the night is lit by the stars and city lights, no matter how faint.
That of an unlit chamber is lit as the eyes magnify light in response to the weakening of other senses.
That of closed eyes is lit by synapses in the brain interpreting pressure on the eyelids as light.
True darkness is not caused by the dark but by the absence of light, and this was the darkness that now surrounded him. The sensory connections were not linking simply to his brain, but to the mind that makes up that brain. With all senses controlled by the simulation, there were no stars or city lights, there was no light to magnify, there was no pressure recorded on his eyelids to be misinterpreted.
There was no light and thus there was only darkness.
There is the silence of night, the silence of a closed room, the silence of one who is deaf.
But those are not true silence.
That of the night is filled with the sounds of the night, of the insects, of the people.
That of a closed room is filled with tiny sounds, air moving, breathing, blood flowing.
That of deafness is filled by the other senses that substitute, that turn a heartbeat into a resonance.
True silence is not caused by the absence of sound but by silence itself. In the simulator, there were no sounds of night, no air moving or blood flowing. There was no heartbeat to be recorded by his mind as sound.
There was nothing…………….
The mind is not designed to cope with the absence of the senses. It will produce false images and sounds, false sensations and tastes to compensate, to fill the gap that grows to be a void.
When the mind is not allowed to compensate, how does it cope?
When meditating, the mind attempts to release itself from earthly constraints. When successful, a few minutes can seem like days.
But even under the deepest meditative trance, there is always sensation.
For Riley, the few minutes that passed were an eternity, every second a thousands years, every minute an eon.
Was this torture? Can the absence of torture be torture in itself?
Had Riley been aware, perhaps this would have crossed his mind.
Perhaps not, for the silence was broken…………
………..and as all silence should be, it was broken by the faintest of sounds from far away, by a whisper,. In its sensory starved state, Riley's mind was operating on instinct, latching onto that sound before it was even aware that it existed, every sense straining towards it, interpreting it in its own way.
It was felt. It was tasted. It was smelt. It was seen.
But above all……….. it was heard.
A movement
A scratch.
A whisper
Above him, under him, in front of him, behind him.
The whispers would have filled the air, but there was no air, would have filled his ears, but he had no ears to hear.
Only the whispers.
And as they began to grow in volume, began to fill the void that was everything, they began to make themselves heard, vocalizing themselves.
Mere noise at first, fragments of sound, tiny fractions of words, of sentences, no shape or form, only the whispering, but as each moment passed, time ticking by slowly, one year at a time, they grew clearer.
They became words and cries. They became whimpers and pleas. They became entreaties and begs.
They became the sounds of his past, of those he had seen, those he had loved, they became those he had known, those he had cherished.
They became joy and happiness………….until they changed.
They were still the same, still those of his life, but now they were different, merging, blurring, shifting until they were those he had taken, those he had tortured, those he had killed.
Riley could no longer separate them. The sounds of his victims became those of his family, became his own and back again, filling his universe with their torment.
Torture to oneself can always be borne. It is the torture of those you care for, that you love that is the true pain, the pain that goes beyond the body, beyond the mind, that hurts that very soul that all men carry.
And it was that pain that Riley was being made to feel.
It could have lasted minutes, it could have lasted hours, it could have lasted days, but all things change……….
It is one thing to hear, it is another to witness, and where once there was darkness, now came light, and with the light came the images………..
As the explosions he had set were detonating beneath him, Xander was forcing the two scientists ahead of him, out of the entrance. They made it out in time to see the ground level collapse downwards, falling through the hole caused by the force of the blast from the level below, filling the air with a haze of dust.
The two scientists were numbed by what had happened, by the destruction of their facility, by the death of their friends, and in Laura Rhodes case, by the pain from her damaged leg, but through all this, Dr Marshall still had the energy, the will, to ask……
'Where are you taking us?'
His hesitant question was met with silence from the still figure beside him, Xander's scarred face showing no signs of what he might be thinking.
The trio stood there for a moment until just as the doctor was preparing to repeat his question, it was answered with a bullet.
As the cartridge passed through his leg, as he crumpled to the ground next to his colleague, he could only gaze back up at the man who had shot him without warning, the pain rendering him dumb.
'I'm not.'
Without saying another he word, Xander simply turned from them and disappeared into the jungle, the rifle he had left behind as he entered the compound collected on his way.
The howls of the beasts that they had created could be heard even as he traveled, the blood of the scientists attracting them immediately
Riley had always thought that there was nothing he would fear in this world. That no matter how much pain he could be put through, in the end that was all it was – pain. But as the simulation enveloped him, a part of his mind realized that he was mistaken. There is always something to fear, and that something was here in this place, with him.
Is watching the pain you have inflicted on others come back to those you love worse than experiencing it yourself?
Riley would never know the answer to that question, for even as his mind was being filled with the sounds and the images, the first touch against his legs was beginning, a brush of contact, a stroking against his skin………..
The rescue team broke through to the lower levels ten days later, digging their way through the rubble, their rescue attempts hampered by the need for secrecy.
Riley had lasted for 8 of those days by normal time.
But normal time matters little when every second is an eternity of torment, and even as Riley died, his spirit screaming, the only true awareness he still possessed was also screaming – screaming that there was still a price to be paid.
And that that price would be his soul.
Even as Xander made his way through the jungle, the screams from the scientists filled the air, echoing for miles as the usual sounds that were always present were silenced by the terror evident in those cries of pain.
<I killed them Willow. For Oz, for me, for you – I got them all.>
And to those thoughts, to the rage and pain that were echoing though him, there could be only one response.
In that part of Xander that still guarded her soul………
For the boy he once was, for the tortured man he had become………
Willow wept.