*BANG!*
Xander stood there, panting, gun held in both hands and starting to fall towards the floor.
The seven year old looked down at the corpse, and started to laugh.
"Just like that..."
The trigger had been strangely easy to pull.
"No more beatings..."
Tomorrow would be different.
"All the pain..."
Just one shot had killed that bastard who'd had the nerve to call himself his father.
He emptied the rest of the gun's loaded ammo into the corpse.
Chapel heard the bang, as he rode through the small neighbourhood. The houses gave the impression of beatings, and black eyes, rather than dead bodies. He decided to check it out. Chapel left his 'bike and his luggage on it at the side of the road.
The house was on the verge of falling down, the front door open. He heard a television playing as he slowly moved through the house, wary of the person who had fired. There was a few pictures on the wall, all faded to the same grey shade as the wallpaper. The carpet was drab, matching the grey ceiling.
He found a boy, no more than seven years old, standing over a dead older man. The boy was panting, a curl of smoke rising from the handgun he held in his hands. A look of joy was on his youthful face. Slowly the boy registered that Chapel was there.
"Who... who're you?," the boy asked. He didn't bother to raise the handgun; he'd already used up all the ammo killing his father.
"Chapel the Evergreen," Chapel replied. A thought struck him; he needed a sucessor... "How would you like to learn from me, boy?"
"Don't call me boy," the boy grumbled. "My name is Xander. Alexander LaVelle Harris."
Chapel made a mental note not to call 'Xander' boy. "Hello, Xander. Do you want to learn from me? Make your choice now."
Xander nodded.
"Yes."
It was late evening in Sunnydale. Whether unconsciously or consciously aware of the threat at night, people were either at home or at the Bronze. But never in between, save for the journey between either.
Except for the new arrival.
A dirty great ratbike roared into the small Californian town. A large cross was tied to the side of it, it's tan calico wrapping starkly standing out against the dirty black frame of the bike. The rider was a man in a two-piece suit, with little white crosses at the cuffs and no tie. Behind him, a tall woman in a tan duster held onto him. A metal patch covered one of her eyes.
He stopped for a moment to take in the small town.
"Where do you think William will be?," the woman asked.
"Don't know, Dominique," the man replied. "We'll have to ask at the local bar."
"You're buying, Harris," the woman said. "I need a drink after all that riding."
Late evening was a good time of night for Willy. His customers had arrived by then, and none had drifted off for hunting. His small pub was almost full. The little bell over the door jingled.
Willy looked up from the beer he was pulling. His mouth dropped open; what were *they* doing here? The man had his cross with him, too, not a good sign.
"Hey, bartender, gimme my beer!," the Horvath demon growled. Willy absently obliged, then moved over to where the two new arrivals waited at the bar.
"Hey, where can we find Willy the Bloody?," the man asked.
"I donno, Harris," Willy said nervously. If he told this man where Spike was, Spike'd kill him. But if he didn't, this man would have his guts for garters.
"Where?," the woman asked, a hard tone to her voice. "Oh, and gimme a beer. Speights Old Dark."
Willy quickly pulled a handle for her. "Here, free, on the house."
"Thanks. Now... where is Spike?," the man asked again, a harder edge to his voice.
"I don' think I like you," a vampire said, half drunk as he tryed to tap the man on the shoulder.
"I don't like you either," the man said. "Go away."
"Ain't gonna," the drunk said. "Looks like dinner arrived."
Sighing in resignation, the woman pulled a handgun from her duster and shot the vampire in both kneecaps, not moving an eye from her beer.
"Last warning," the man said.
The drunk took it.
"Now, Willy. Location," the woman said, halfway through her beer. She had a beautiful figure, slim. The tan coat emphasized her sleekness wonderfully, the wide hat adding a touch of danger.
"You didn't hear this from me, 'kay?," Willy said. "Spike's in the old furniture warehouse."
The man gave Willy a twenty. "Keep it. Next time, get to the point quicker?"
Xander was moving towards the industrial part of Sunnydale when he suddenly slowed the huge bike.
"What is this?," Dominique asked.
Hundreds of pint sized monsters were running around, terrorising people. Xander ignored them for the moment.
"Nevermind that, there's Spike," he said, inclining his head towards a bleach blonde Brit.
"This is... this is just neat!," Spike said, looking around. He didn't notice the two until Xander stopped beside him.
"William the Bloody? We've been looking for you."
"Yeah? Who're you?," the vampire said grumpily.
"I'm Dominique the Cyclops," the woman said, "and my partner here is Xander the Evergreen."
Spike double-taked at this news. "You... you what?"
"My predecessor was Chapel the Evergreen," Xander said.
"So, you're the one that killed 'im?," Spike said, looking around. It was obvious that he wanted to do something elsewhere.
"Yeah, he did," Dominique answered for Xander. "What's happening with all this?"
"I dunno, but it sure is neat! Look, I've got things to do. Talk to ya later?"
"Sure," Xander said. "We'll get in touch with you."
At the end of the night, Spike was thoroughly annoyed. Not only did he fail to kill that Slayer -- again! -- but he hadn't gotten a bite to eat at all. The only high part of the night was meeting those two. He hadn't met Dominique before, but he'd known Xander's teach, Chapel the Evergreen.
His grumbles cut off as he closed the door to the warehouse.
Across the alleyway from Spike, Xander and Dominique watched from the ratbike.
"So. We go in during the daytime, and torture Drusilla?," Dominique asked.
"That's the plan. Before we do that, though, we tie her and Spike down, check for escape routes, and kill any minions," Xander said. "Feel like Chinese?"
"Sure."