Xander Harris walked away from Sunnydale with nothing except the clothes on his back. Even those were owned by other people, including the 'Moby Dick is NOT a social disease' T-shirt. The only surviving member of the Scooby Gang, all that was left of his life was him, and he had doubts about that too.
It had begun with the Mayors security force doing a routine sweep of the site he was to give a speech at, Sunnydale High School. Most VIP's have bodyguards, and searches are standard enough, but finding a school library with enough home made explosives rigged to blow the whole place to Mars orbit was not. Xander was there when they arrived, making a final check of the detonators and, of course went instantly to the lockup at Sunnydale Police Station. His attempts to explain himself just made it worse, of course.
"The Mayor is a hundred year old wizard who plans to turn himself into a gigantic demon and eat the town?" Said the arresting officer, who was doing a terrible job of keeping a straight face. "Really?"
And the more he tried to explain things, because he was getting desperate with time running out, the more he was regarded around the station as just free entertainment. There was a shift change while he was there, and since everyone on shift had to come back to the station to clock off, BOTH shifts heard his story, as they stood in front of his cell, sipping coffee, laughing and making jokes about it. The police psychiatrist had to make an official determination before he could be shipped of to a padded cell for proper diagnosis, and said shrink was due some time after his regular office hours. In the meantime, the cops enjoyed the show.
The dark haired boy was totally frantic by the time Richard Wilkins the III was due to give his speech. Over time he had become increasingly frantic, less and less capable of giving a rational account of his actions and the consequences of keeping him here. None of the others had come to see him, except for a brief visit from Mrs. Rosenburg, who said she had heard about it from Willow.
"Willow insisted I tell you that they all love you and are thinking about you, but with the Graduation ceremony coming they have to be there." The sociologist then went into some bullshit about the pressures of society to conform, the percentage of high school student who suicide or go mad from the pressure to perform… The Zeppo was simply beyond fear and panic by this time, headed rapidly for a nervous breakdown, and was not listening. "I promise you I will get you the best psychiatrist I can, you have always been a true friend to Willow and I have always respected you for it."
And with that the Rosenburgs went off to watch their only child graduate. Later, as the station started to receive increasingly strange and panicked radio messages from the vicinity of the high school he simply sat on his bunk with a blank stare, emotionally numb. At first he barely noticed the funny looks he started getting from the cops who came into the lockup area, and how they had stopped laughing at him. He was thinking about what it meant.
"They're dead, 'cause they wouldn't just let him ascend and my plan was all they had." He realized he was in a state where descending into self-pity would be almost inevitable in most people.
He, however, was not most people. He was, to begin with, someone who had survived growing up in his parent's house without taking to drugs, booze, or suicide. He had faced down zombie bomb planters, soulless former Slayer boyfriends, and door to door aluminium siding salesmen. He had been threatened by Angelus, a whole host of lesser bloodsuckers, Snider, and his drunken parents. He had not let any of the intimidate him into inaction, and he would not start now just because the Mayor was an earthworm with delusions of grandeur. He noticed the station commander standing in front of his cell, looking nervous, and also looking like he was after advice. He knew that look, it was one he had given Giles more than once.
"Who are you, and how did you know this was going to happen?" It was not an accusing tone, not to the man who had tried to warn them. Who might have saved them from the nightmare that was going on in the streets, which were full of things that should not exist outside Steven King stories but were currently eating his officers. Xander thought about it, and remembered the opening line from Melville's classic. One of the few books other than Kerouac he had actually read from cover to cover.
"Call me Ishmael."
"And that is how you came to be 'advisor' to Sunnydale Police Department, Mr. Harris, correct?" the man in the dark suit with the stunningly original name 'Jones' asked. He spoke in a calm, emotionless tone.
"Yes."
"And why Ishmael as an alias, Mr. Harris?" The other suit, a man called Smith, asked, in the same calm, emotionless tone. They were not quite MIB or Agent Smith from the Matrix, but the vibe was definitely off.
"You know, Moby Dick, '…and I alone live to tell thee.' well, I figured I was the last Scooby and this giant THING had killed everyone because of one man's obsession, so… My head wasn't on very straight that day, sue me."
"Actually, Mr. Harris, we find your reasoning surprisingly lucid given the circumstances." Jones responded. It was like being interrogated by Oz and a clone Oz, the total lack of emotional expression was similar.
Xander was too exhausted and drained to really care who these men were, beyond the fact that they had some kind of high authority and that no-one, not even the FBI agents also around, either knew exactly what it was or was prepared to cross them over it. It was also weird the way no one asked to properly inspect their ID. The way they had quickly flipped open and closed the holders made them unreadable, they could have been 'chicken Inspector' badges for all anyone could really tell.
And yet none of the multiple federal or international agencies involved in all this bothered to question them about it. Given how much bureaucratic infighting was going on between local, state, federal and foreign cops that was remarkable.
"Mr. Harris, you are alone in this universe." Smith stated.
"Yeah, got that from the home movie footage of everyone I cared about being eaten." The zeppo said. Many parents had been filming their kid's graduation, and there was plenty of material. "Thanks for editing that together and showing it to me by the way, it really improved my morale."
"It was necessary to establish a frame of reference for you, Mr. Harris." Jones explained.
"Because we needed honest answers." Smith continued.
"And to establish truth one must first establish what is reality." Jones followed up.
"And conversely, what is its un." Smith concluded.
They had been going on like this the entire time they had been here, wherever 'here' was. Not that it was some kind of secret location; it was just that he had not bothered to try to find out. He, like all the survivors of 'the Sunnydale Holocaust' was being questioned closely, and not allowed out of sight. Since he felt no urge to flee – where would he go? – had no one to flee with, and was allowed out to sit in the park or wherever as long as he took a 'minder' with him, it was not a problem to him.
Talking to them helped minimize the urge to walk in front of a eighteen wheeler so he could be with his friends again. Which he would never do. After all, suicides don't go to where Willow and the rest had undoubtedly gone, they went to a warmer location. So no, suicide was not an option for the xman. Really. No. It wasn't.
And at least talking to Smith and Jones enabled him to keep thinking that.
"And when you have your honest answers?" because they had been at this for an eternity.
"We have a job offer for you." Jones answered.
"We work for an agency that fights what you and your friends fought." Smith explained.
"And we are always short of personnel." Jones continued.
"Which is why we were unable to help you stop the ascension." Smith concluded.
"And you want ME!" He was feeling emotion, for the first time since that day in the cells. And it was exasperation. "I FUCKED UP. I got everyone killed with my stupid plan that couldn't survive the most basic security precautions."
"Proper training would prevent such mistakes in future." Jones responded in the eternal Smith and Jones expressionless expression and emotionless tone.
"And it was the only plan any of you had come up with, Mr. Giles, as the assigned Watcher, was supposed to be the one with the planning skills." Smith spoke, making no movement at all other than his lips. Neither of them did during interviews, for hours if that was how long it lasted.
"We can provide the appropriate training." Jones said.
"We can provide a support system you need, material and emotional." Smith followed through.
"You would not have to dress or behave like us." Jones added.
"And the staff canteen is well stocked with Twinkies." Smith concluded.
The dark haired survivor thought for a moment. He was not in perfect shape, mentally, but he had seen a lot of Star Trek Episodes.
"You're not human, and this is for some kind of cross reality team isn't it. The '..alone in THIS universe' line was a giveaway, you know."
"True at to the first two comments. False for the third, none of the Federal agencies suspects us on that count." Jones countered.
"I don't fight for the bad guys, and what is so special about me? If you're short of people, there are plenty of better fighters than me around."
"The lack of fighting skills we can correct." Smith replied.
"It is the lack of moral fibre we cannot." Jones completed.
"We are offering you the power to save and remake entire universes." Smith continued the recruiting pitch.
"And the number of people who can be trusted to wield such power is limited." Jones explained.
"We have been monitoring you." Smith said as he opened his briefcase to show the device inside.
"You can be trusted not to abuse or be twisted by this." Jones added.
"Save and remake Universes?" The sole surviving member of the Sunnydale Harris's said.
"Every time you stop an apocalypse, you change that universe." Smith expanded on a unclear point
"Over centuries, a shrewd individual can change a universe to suit themselves, to become what suits them, what enables them to have power, money, sex, or whatever it is they desire in the exact way they desire." Jones continued on the theme.
"Since only one of our agents could thoroughly monitor such behavior." Jones explained.
"And since they are in too short supply to do so." Smith followed.
"An immortal like yourself can wield total power." Jones explained.
"Hence our careful selection of personnel." Smith concluded.
"I'm Immortal. And you want me to save the universe."
"Universes, we need you to help save universes." Jones corrected.
"Ok, I'm in."
And a doorway opened to a whole new life.
Xander moved slowly through the forest, as one does when the world is full of hungry things that think of humans as a protein source. This was the most delicate phase of the mission. He had to make contact with some VERY trigger-happy people; in a place where the least trigger-happy were often dinner. He had a deal to make that would sound very much like one that their enemies might make, but that would be later. Right now he had hungry predators to avoid and combat fatigued soldiers to find. Then he heard shooting, sustained shooting, and started towards the sound.
The small arms fire was clearly from standard US Army issue weapons, M16's and M240's. As he got closer he saw bright spurts of flame, possibly some kind flame-thrower. He was moving as fast as he could while still looking out for the demons who would also be attracted to the fight, and of course, either side actually fighting was a threat. As the saying goes 'Friendly fire – isn't.'
He shot the first demon he saw almost without noticing it was there, just blew it away a burst to the chest. He did it without slowing, the spray of demon pieces as the rounds exploded it, he didn't even wonder what species it was, no one would care really. The fact that his shooting would attract more to him, that he cared about greatly. This was their world now, after all, and humans were now the dangerous endangered species threatening the ruling order.
"Ok." He muttered to himself under his breath. "Am I thinking about this stuff now because I have had WAY too much intellectual training, or to distract myself?"
Two more demons appeared, one on together on his right and running at him, roaring. Two, three round bursts to the chest and each was now just plant food in the making, as he changed magazines on the move. The fighting was right in front of him; it sounded like a patrol going full rock and roll. With conventional ammo only blowing the head off completely, or cutting the demon in half would really stop them, so full auto was the only way to go. He wondered if they would run out of ammunition before he could save them.
After another few hundred yards and another few demons, he saw the main group, who seemed to be arguing or maybe just reorganizing. The firing had stopped, but they were not feeding so they couldn't have over-run the humans. Standing absolutely still and breathing quietly, he changed magazines again to ensure he had the full twenty rounds. The demons were grouped together tightly, so, allowing for the M16's tendency to pull up and to the right on full automatic, he aimed low and to the left and hosed out the whole magazine with barely a pause between bursts. The survivors, territorial and aggressive to a fault, charged him as he changed magazines.
Coming too he did what he had been trained to do under such circumstances, he pretended to be still asleep and checked for damage. He wriggled his toes and fingers, proving he had no spinal damage, checked that the pains he had were partly from injuries but partly from very tight bandages. Also, he was not physically restrained, and in a bed, always a good sign. He opened his eyes and looked around.
"Captain Van Meter, our mystery man is awake." A woman's voice, and apparently a doctor rather than a nurse by the way she was dressed. They were indoors; it looked like a permanent hospital rather than a MASH unit.
"Hello, I'm Xander Harris, how long was I out?"
"Two days, and expect to be in recovery for a while yet, you're lucky to be alive." She had red hair and a pleasant smile, not a beautiful woman but cheerful and professional looking at the same time. And she was right about the luck part; demons were fast the closest had been a little over arms length from the rifle muzzle when he had finished reloading. Bits of it had knocked him down and he had been firing from that position when something hit his head and he was knocked out.
He would thank whoever from the patrol had come to rescue him later. It looked like the show was about to start. A group of men, clearly the brass here, walked into the room; it was a private room rather than a ward. 'Ok' he thought 'so my sales pitch worked'. They had the look of people desperately trying not to look desperate. Which, given the shape their world was in, was no mean feat.
"Where did you get that ammunition?" Were the first words spoken to him, by a squat, fireplug of a man in a Marine General's uniform. More than one of the others looked exasperated, negotiating is supposed to involve some attempt at subtlety, after all.
"From a place that not only has enough to re-equip your forces but has an army to re-take the planet." Xander responded. This was not his first assignment, and he felt he knew when to be cool and when to just explain the situation.
His back pack had contained ONLY his communicator and ammunition, since he had ported into this universe only a few hours before the firefight, and outside the 'safe zone' only because of the likelihood that anything appearing through a portal INSIDE said zone would be assumed to be a demon and shot on sight. And it was demon killer rounds, from a reality where an invasion like the one that was succeeding here had been beaten back in the early 1960's.
"There's nowhere on Earth that has an army like that." Was the counter from a man in a suit, standing to the left of him. "And nowhere that produces ammunition like the kind you have, for that matter."
"Nowhere on THIS Earth, no." There, it was said. These people had either had enough weirdness thrown at them to accept what was happening, or not. Or at least, they were desperate enough to make the deal, or not.
"Are you saying there is a parallel reality that has what we need and is willing to supply it?" Came a question from yet another, clearly a civilian and possibly a science type.
"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying."
The science type looked smugly around and one of the others reached into his wallet and handed over a bill. The former Scooby wondered how many of the others had just lost on the bet.
"What do they want for this generous help?" The Marine general asked. Again the suit, presumably a diplomat or politician who had expected to be running this, looked ticked.
"South America."
"Done." Was the response from the man wearing the globe and anchor insignia.
"General Grey you do not have the power to make that kind of deal." The suit said angrily. "We are supposed to be opening negotiations for ammunition supply here, not giving away a whole continent to one man with back pack."
"Guys." Xander said.
"We need the new ammunition LAST WEEK Lucas."
"Guys."
"Senator Lucas to you General. And we can't just GIVE AWAY South America!"
"Guys."
"Why not, there's no-one there but Demons anyway and it's radioactive as hell?" The Hellmouth had opened there, after all, and nukes had been used to try to close it.
"Guys." It was noticeable that no one else around got between the two. Clearly this was the latest round in an ongoing fight. Still, he needed it to end. "OY, WILL YOU TWO SHUT UP AND LET ME MAKE YOU AN OFFER!"
They were both glaring at him now but at least they were silent.
"I can have enough ammunition for 1,000 rounds each to every soldier in the safe zone portaled in this afternoon as a show of faith. How about we try that and then see if you think the price of more is too high?" Because the ammunition was far too advanced to be made with the technical and manufacturing base they had left, they couldn't copy it. Hell, the standard SS-109 round was being made at about 1/3 of the rate it was being used. The safe zone had about seven weeks at current usage rates before it ran dry and everyone was demonchow.
"That is an awful lot of ammunition for a demonstration son." The general said.
"Two hundred million rounds, approximately." Xander agreed. "They have it on pallets, ready to ship straight to any location on the planet you want, right to the outpost line. You can have it actually in the troops rifles by dark."
There had been no minor amount of surveillance done of course, at the dark haired agent's request, before serious mission planning had begun. Then research to find out who would see the expense of saving this world as worth it, and then the negotiations with them… It was a lot of work, a lot of time, and people had been dying here every hour he delayed.
For that matter people on other continents would be needing the help, but with Europe and South America gone most forces still fighting used the AK-47, and the ammunition just didn't come in the 7.62mm x 39 that that weapon chambered. They were working on it, but the production lines were running and the warehouse full of NATO Standard 5.56mm NOW.
"Make the call." Was the politicians eventual response. It had taken him a good tenth of a second to think it over before agreeing. The scientist handed over the only item in his pack other than the ammunition, correctly guessing it was his communicator and not the Gameboy it looked like.
The next week, still in Xander's hospital room.
"What is this special ammo made of anyway?" Corporal Loomis asked. It was armor piercing high explosive incendiary, but when the bullet was sliced in half there appeared to be no explosive or incendiary material in it. Just the bullet, which meant you didn't have to take metal out to put explosive/incendiary material in, which always lightens the round and reduces hitting power.
"Metallic high temperature explosive." Was the response, and he had had it explained to him in sufficient detail to handle any sales pitch needed and handle casual enquiry's. The actual chemistry was so far over his head it was ridiculous, it was over most chemistry PhD's in most realities actually. "It's stable until fired, the acceleration to muzzle velocity is, what, 50,000g's or something ludicrous like that?"
Like most people, none of them had actually done the math, and it amazed them to think about it. After all, the space shuttle had accelerated at less than 10g acceleration getting into outer space. They looked at him and handed him one of the beer's they had smuggled in. The safe zone included all the good tank terrain, meaning the wheat belt and so on, so food and basic's were not actually in short supply. What had been in short supply was hope.
"When it hits something the deceleration completes eliminates whatever stability the molecule has and it heats to 3000 degrees before exploding."
"And they just had a few zillion rounds of this lying around looking for a good home, huh?" Private El Faidel asked.
"No, they were looking for payback after their world was invaded, and I found a way for them to get it." Compared to what happened here the invasion on the supplier Earth, E-1486 to his agency, was short and not too bad. But then E-1486 had 'only' lost Austria and Yugoslavia.
"And a lot of prime real estate." Another said. Officially 'only' the area south of Panama was going to be ceded, but there were just not enough humans left to repopulate the demon held areas, not on THIS Earth anyway.
"That too." There was no use hiding it, and he had no interest in doing so anyway. E-1486 was going to be shipping in at least a few hundred million people, more likely a Billion or more with how de-populated this reality was compared to theirs. The whole population of Europe, South and Central America had gone down the gullets of the hellspawn, after all. Plus a lot from everywhere else. Half the human race, at least, though no one would ever have an accurate accounting. "I'm not saying their saints and you have no need to worry about their motives."
"Just that it's an improvement over what the scaly dudes have planned for us." Which was Loomis speaking again, a large blonde woman who looked like a Viking Maiden. Whatever else she might have had to say was drowned out by the sound of the portal opening in the disembarkation area, and Panzer Gruppe Kliest's lead elements rolling through.
The first big offensive was to be the drive to New Orleans, to allow a reopening of the Gulf of Mexico oil fields, ocean going trade with other safe zones, and a beginning of the campaign against sea demons. The next phase, probably west through Texas with its vital oil and on to California, would follow, making the war effort less dependent on portaled in fuel.
They left after a while, the visit had been to allow PR photo's as much as anything else. It was warm, he still had rib injuries not quite healed, so he lay back in his bed, sipped his beer, and relaxed. He could recover here about as well as he would at home in the Agency Reality, and he liked to see a victory taking shape around him.
It was good to be alive.