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DeadWar 1.8 (Transits)

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  • DeadWar 1.8 (Transits)

    Disclaimer: All original characters, and the DeadWar concept, are mine. The Buffyverse and all its characters belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy.

    Rating: PG

    Setting: A few days after "Strangers on the Bus"

    Beta: KingofCretins

    "You have conquered, and I yield. Yet, henceforward art thou also dead -- dead to the World, to Heaven and to Hope! In me didst thou exist -- and, in my death, see by this image, which is thine own, how utterly thou hast murdered thyself."
    --"William Wilson", Edgar Allan Poe

    A blond girl chased a blond girl through the cemetery, and a third blond girl pursued both of them.

    Dodging through the lines of tombstones, Nina gradually began to catch up to the pair despite the obstacle course. There were worse things than being a Slayer, she thought, responsibility or no responsibility. Now if I could just fly, she thought. That'd complete the super-hero package.

    The girl in the lead tottered briefly as she stumbled over some unseen obstacle, wavered, and went down. Now or never. Nina took a deep breath and burst into a sprint; she'd been on the track team before she knew what a Slayer was. Not even most Slayers could match her now.

    The first girl's pursuer growled; Nina caught a glimpse from the side as the vampire shifted into game face. Leaping a tombstone, she flipped a stake out of the hidden pocket up her sleeve and came down hard on vamp-girl's back. The twin impact as Nina thudded first into the vampire, then the ground beneath her, jarred her teeth, and then she was rolling over to face the demon's victim.

    "Thanks," the girl said, fangs blurring her speech just slightly. "Jessie's been, like, nutzoid ever since she got her soul back. It's bad enough having Superslayer Buffy out there without your spawn trying to dust your ass." The vampire stretched out a hand to her as Nina stared. "I've been trying to stay low--that lame pig's blood in bags tastes like tomato soup after a few months, but there's nothing else in this sucky popsicle stand of a town--not that Jessie cared."

    "She had a soul?" Nina's stomach turned. Did that make her a murderer? Dazed, she took the girl's hand and was pulled to her feet. "And--"

    "Did she ever!" The vampire overrode her next question. "Couldn't stop rambling on about how awful she felt for like three months. Then she, like, vanished for a couple weeks, and just when we thought she'd walked into the sun she showed up and started killing left and right. Like having a soul made her better than us, y'know? It's been a year since I actually killed anyone, see, what with the big Slayer army deal, but Jessie's all, blah demonspawn monstercakes, die die die, and..."

    "She was killing vampires?" Nina leaned against a tombstone, trying not to freak out. She'd killed a real champion, apparently, and she'd saved Jessie's soulless sire, who sounded pretty dangerous in spite of her valley-girl accent and fear of Slayers.

    "Not just vampires," the girl said, "all kinds of stuff. Bunch of wimpy spiny purple demons a couple days M'Fashnik or two before that...and last week she ate a car thief, two streetwalkers, and a pot dealer. Whiny little hypocrite. You okay? If you hadn't helped me just then she might've got me. I was, like, trying to tell her hitting the jail tomorrow was a stupid move, how Slayers get all pissy when you kill humans, even scuzzy ones, but she wouldn't listen to me. I owe you one. Hey, what's with you?"

    Nina just wanted her head to stop spinning.
    Tabitha was begging for her life again. The demons in the basement were angry--as usual--and Tabitha was going to have to do something even more evil to stop them from killing her. The witch sometimes seemed unhappy being evil, but there just wasn't any way for her to stop. It was too late for her.

    Harmony could relate. She was still locked in her room two days after losing her soul--again!--with nothing to do but watch soap operas and drink the yucky pig's blood Willow brought her. There was no sign of the missing Orbs of Chocula (or whatever they were called), and Willow was having trouble finding the consecrated crystal she needed to make more. "Supply and demand," she'd said. Harmony wasn't sure she wanted her soul back anyway, but it was the only way she was ever going to be allowed to leave. Unless they just gave up and dusted her.

    Timmy began to make whiny protests about being used as a speed bump. Harmony sniffled. Timmy had always been a favorite of her Blondie Bear. Not many guys would watch soap opera--or admit to it, anyway--but somehow she'd persuaded Spike to try it, and he'd startled her by getting all excited over Passions. He hadn't seen an episode in two years, and now he'd never see another. He was down in the basement with the demons now.

    The footsteps in the hallway stopped, and someone began to rattle the padlock. Harmony glanced at the clock. It wasn't lunch time yet. Dawn had come to see her a couple of times, but only in the afternoon. She inhaled deeply to test the scent, whimpered, and rolled off the other side of the bed to hide. Faith was home from the hospital, and boy was she pissed. Angry Slayer meant badness.

    "Harm!" The door swung open. "Where the hell are you? You're late!" Late? "Harm, I can tell you're in here somewhere. You might as well come out." Reluctantly, Harmony peered over the bed's edge. "What the hell?"

    "You don't have a stake," Harmony mumbled. Maybe Faith meant to behead her.

    "Not in my hand." Faith shrugged, produced one from a pocket, and put it back. "I'm back. It's training time, and you're not in the gym. You can't learn to fight watching...Passions? That stuff rots your brain, dontcha know?"

    "I lost my soul during the fight." Maybe Faith had forgotten that. She'd been out cold somewhere around that point, hadn't she? Harmony stood up, still nervous. "I've been locked in my room ever since. It's a good thing I never have to pee, you know. This toilet doesn't work."

    "Right, so?" Faith studied her face. "This ain't a jail cell. Two punches would get you through the door. Maybe four or five through the outside wall, if you wanted to just leave."

    "What's the point? They'd only hunt me down. I'd be a...a fugitive, like in the movies."

    "Maybe they would," Faith said doubtfully. "Starting to look like a war zone out there at night. But I guess they might."

    "You think they'd let me go?"

    "I wouldn't. I told you--you're late for sparring practice. You've actually been makin' some progress lately, and I'm not gonna let you backslide. Maggot." Faith winked at her. "Maggot" was some kind of joke on Kennedy; Faith never really used it during training.

    "Um, maybe you didn't hear that--"

    "I heard." Faith sat down on the bed. "But here you are. Like I coulda been gone by now. If that was what you wanted. And the day you get good enough to take me, I'll have blue hair and bifocals, so no...not worried."

    "Maybe when Willow gets an Orb finished, we can--"

    "No," Faith said. "Now. Look at me, Harm. I'm a killer. I belong in jail, or dead. But I'm not. You know why? Cause someone took a chance on me. It's time I passed the favor on." She tossed the padlock to the floor. "You're out of solitary now."

    With a faint shiver, Harmony stepped around the bed. "Angel isn't going to like this."

    "Angel," said Faith, "can kiss your vampire ass." Harmony giggled nervously in spite of herself. "Your soul will keep. Hell...maybe you'll get it back yourself, make your Blondie Bear proud."

    "What, a zillion years from now?"

    "You got plenty of time."
    They walked into Club Gremarye like they owned the place, three vampires in leather pants and studded jackets. There were demon bars where that look might have worked; this wasn't one of them. Patrons clad in tuxedos and evening gowns gawked at them. Here, elegance ruled the night, a glittering veneer over bloodlust and carnage.

    "Can I help you, sir?" the hostess asked archly. They were obviously young, and would be lucky to be thrown out on their ears. This was a place for older vampires with a taste for luxury, and for their few favored pets.

    "Yeah," the foremost of them sneered back, hefting a sawed-off shotgun. "You can die."

    The hostess fought the urge to roll her eyes. "Sir, you should know that won't--" The blast took her head off, spattering the nearest table with her dust.

    "This one's for Eddie, you soulless ****s!" The middle intruder produced an incendiary grenade from beneath her jacket, hurling it away across the aisle. "Stinkin' monsters think you can get away with blowing up our kind? Got no guilt about killin' you proper this time!"

    Clubgoers blurred into motion, diving beneath tables or racing to toss the grenade away (even as more began to arc through the air) or charging towards the invaders. The shotgun boomed again, then clattered as its wielder reloaded it at superhuman speed. The third of the group had produced flares by this time, covering his gun-toting ally with sputtering streams of orange fire. A dangling cage's chains ripped free as a stray burst of shot struck the ceiling; the human victims inside shrieked briefly as it dropped onto the table below, smacking bones against metal bars.

    "You ain't nothin'!" The grenade-thrower's supply exhausted, she ducked back through the door as the first of the charges went off, spraying the room with light and heat and the sharp stink of thermite. A dozen vampires, caught too close, charred to ash in an instant. Half a dozen more went down flailing at their burning clothes. The two remaining intruders began to retreat toward the door as well, intent on escaping before the entire building caught fire.

    Rationally speaking, the souled invaders ought not to have gotten away. By this time, though, no one in Club Gremarye was thinking rationally. Caught in a twilight haze of instinct and self-preservation, the majority of them blundered toward the nearest exits or away from wherever they felt too much heat. Compared to the single, unexpected blast that had taken out Lois' bar, the casualties were surprisingly low; doors might be lost in the smoke, and night vision blinded by the infrared glare of fire, but when all else failed a vampire could batter its way through the walls.

    Forgotten in the chaos, the humans intended for that night's meal roasted screaming in their cages.
    "What's he doing here?" Anne's electronic voice buzzed and rasped amidst the everyday sounds of dinner at the mission. "I specifically told you not to bring him, Willow."

    Right, Xander thought gloomily. Soul or no soul, she's hiding something from me. She'd been a nice girl once, if not very clueful, and it was a shame she'd ended up this way. Still...he could put up with one vampire in order to serve homeless people their soup.

    "Anne, you can't run this place by yourself from a wheelchair." Willow sounded more reasonable than she had lately, perhaps because there was nothing strictly supernatural about Anne's current problem. Except Anne herself. "Especially not when you're stuck inside in the daytime. You need help, and Xander needs to be here. I'll keep him from making trouble, I promise."

    Why would he make trouble? He'd promised--very, very reluctantly--not to try staking any of the vampires who were helping out with the slaying, so long as they had souls and continued to be useful. Maybe Anne didn't fall strictly into the category of Watcher/Slayer-assistant, but a place like this...well, it was worth keeping open regardless. People had to eat.

    "You'd better," Anne grumbled, turning her chair and whirring off toward a table without another word.

    Xander looked up, expecting to see Willow glowering at him, and promptly dropped the ladle into the soup kettle. The next girl in line wasn't exactly a girl. For a moment, his brain screamed vampire, fooled by the brow ridges. But they were smooth, not corrugated, and the girl's face was a muddy grey color he'd never seen on anything living or undead. Combine that with the effect of her emaciated frame, and he was looking at death walking. Maybe literally. A demon might be anything, do anything, no matter how helpless this one seemed.

    She watched him drop the ladle, and her face fell too. She slumped, hopeless, against the table. If she was getting ready to tear him apart, she had a funny way of preparing for it. Before he could say anything, the demon gathered herself and looked into his eyes. "Please," she said. "I just want some food. Please."

    The line was backing up. The nearest volunteer--a large black man carrying a new canister of tea--glared at Xander as he set it down. "Serve or get out of the way," he growled under his breath. "Nobody goes hungry here."

    "Nobody, huh?" The truth was, he'd been about to pick up the ladle again, but now Xander was feeling defensive. "Not even demons?"

    The other assistant rolled up his sleeve, revealing bite marks. "Couple weeks ago, Buffy barges into LA, shakes up the food chain in vampire town. Folks at the bottom rungs got kicked off the regular channels. This's from Miss Anne. You need food around here, you ask nice and you get it. End of story."

    "And if it'd been a vampire without a soul?"

    "It asks nice, we get bags and take up a collection. Ain't none of them asked nice yet." There was impatience building up in his voice. "I told you. Serve or get out of the way."

    Xander looked back at the line. The demon girl was unbuttoning her threadbare blouse. "I'll pay," she whispered. "If you won't feed me, at least feed my daughter. I can pay you if you want."

    He swallowed hard. Even if she'd been human, there was nothing there he was interested in. "No need," he mumbled guiltily, and scooped up a generous helping of soup. "Sorry for the trouble."

    The big assistant picked up an empty canister. "Good. Don't go losin' the mission, bro." What was that about? Xander shrugged, baffled, as the other guy carried the canister away.

    Willow pushed her way through the line and behind the table. "What do you think you're doing?" she hissed. "These people are hungry, and they're waiting."

    "Sorry, Will...bit of confusion there." He kept scooping, trying to hurry. "No offense intended, but--what are they?"

    "Refugees," she said testily. "This group's from the Ozarks, they're just passing through on their way out of the country. Things got too hot in Arkansas. Yes, they're demons. Lister demons are totally harmless. They've been persecuted for centuries because they're too close to human. Think on that next time you're tempted to hold up the line 'cause of someone's face."

    Xander flushed red. "They're why you wanted me here. And why Anne didn't."

    Willow nodded, still glaring. "Think you can treat them like people? Or are they just so much walking garbage to you?"

    "I..." Xander ladled out another helping of soup. "Sorry, Will. I...I've been a real pain lately, haven't I?"

    She sighed. "I'll go tell Anne she was wrong." Willow turned to leave. "You've got a soul after all."
    Some soup kitchens made the Smooth'n'Easy look upscale. Enid sneered at the pathetic excuses for vampires who were lined up at the doorway tonight. There were those who said animal-feeders were the lowest of the low; she begged to differ. These creatures had prey in their grasp and let it go--not to toy with it, most nowadays not even to preserve their food supply, but to assuage their oh-so-guilty souls. Slinking filth, they were, and hypocrites as well.

    Enid drew forth her blade, and watched her band of warriors follow suit. "I need tell none of you of the threat these creatures represent to us. Not only to our existence, but to our purity, for they expect us to follow in their trail. I say we will not bend nor bow to the demands of the ensouled or their Slayer champion." There was a brief chorus of subdued cheers. "We will not let another weak fool like Edwin strike us down. We will drown them in their own cowards' blood." More cheering. Some of the scum on the street below began to look up. No more time for speeches.

    "Smite, stab, and slay!" Enid shrieked, and leapt from the roof. Tonight was going to be fun.
    "Angel." No response. "Angel," Giles repeated, "I really do need to speak with you."

    Angel raised the bottle of beer and took another swig. "Not sure who you're talking to, Giles. No one here by that name."

    A few days ago, Giles might have responded badly to that announcement. Now.... "I must confess I have no idea what you're talking about."

    "The truth of the matter, Giles, is Angel's dead." He rose from the bench and paced to the trash can, dropping the empty bottle in, then headed back. Giles stepped between him and the bench; Angel lurched to a stop just before he would have collided. "I'm not Angel, Giles. He died in that graveyard. I'm just a guy who was supposed to pass on a couple of hundred years ago."

    "Yet here you are." Giles slid the carton away as Angel reached for another bottle. "You're not dead, and this fight is not over."

    Angel scoffed. "It is for me." He tried to step closer to the beer and bumped into Giles, who took him by the shoulders and shook him roughly.

    "I was given to understand Liam enjoyed a good fight. If you were Liam, you wouldn't walk away from this."

    Angel tried to shove Giles aside; too unsteady on his feet, he lost his balance and sat down hard on the bench again. "This isn't a bar brawl. It's a war. Never cared much for those."

    This time when he reached for the beer, Giles shoved the carton away. It skidded off the table, crashing to the linoleum in a puddle of glass and alcohol. "Call yourself what you like, Angel. You cannot simply walk away from this, nor may you drink yourself into a stupor at my expense. Does Buffy mean so little to you? Does humanity?"

    The former vampire glared up at him through bloodshot eyes. "I'm the man who became Angelus. What do you think?"

    "I think that you are a good person. I think you still have skills that would be worth a great deal to the world, could you only be bothered to use them. I think you're too important to be drinking your new life away in a communal dining hall." Giles sighed. "But perhaps I'm wrong. Perhaps I'm wasting my time. A Watcher has to be more than some common sot."

    Angel began to choke out laughter. "You've got to be kidding."

    "You have more experience with the demon world than almost anyone alive, Angel. Or Liam, if you prefer. You have knowledge, you have skill in a fight, and you know how to train others. It seems you prefer not to use it. I suppose we'll just have to leave this one to Wolfram and Hart."

    Finally. Angel peered up at Giles with something like curiosity. "She wants to work for Wolfram and Hart?"

    Giles shrugged. "I'm honestly not certain what Brittany wants. They seem to want her, and she appears to prefer law school to fighting demons."

    "So she's just going to ignore her calling?" From Angel's frown, that possibility seemed to genuinely disturb him.

    "If someone doesn't get her attention, I suppose she will. I've been unable to get through to Brittany, but you might reach her. You know what it's like to waste away in an office when you were meant for something more." He retrieved the folder he'd left on the counter and handed it over, open to a picture. "Besides...I believe you knew her Aunt Lilah."
    "It doesn't have to be like this," Gabriel said, concentrating on the road. Without headlights, he'd be able to see much better; the contrast interfered with his night vision. It was getting late, though, and he didn't want to be pulled over. Still being on the road at sunrise would be problematic.

    "What if I like it this way?" Michelle asked dubiously. "Look, I know you'd never have woke me otherwise, but you've got to get over this fear of violence. What's a soul, really?" She flicked on the radio, searching for music.

    Gabriel sighed. "I hope you'll find out one day. In the meanwhile, look yourself over again. I want you to have a chance at living, Michelle, not get turned to dust because you got into a fight you couldn't handle. You're still too weak for that kind of life." The sky was starting to lighten. He needed to find them a motel soon.

    "So where's this magical place where everything's safe?" Her voice was filled with a scorn he'd never heard from her before. She'd learn.

    "From what I've heard?" He took the next exit. "Chicago." Let her chew on that awhile.
    Screaming like a banshee, Harmony hurtled out of the air at Faith, fists up and ready, and came down square on the stake.

    With a dismayed gasp, she rolled sideways and toppled to the floor, not expecting to land. Naturally she wasn't prepared to land solidly--and solid--on her butt. Couldn't she even die right? There was a grinding pain radiating out of her chest, and after a few more moments of that she reached up and took hold of the stake. It felt like plastic, and she yanked it out. The wound didn't close right up, not like the time she had that neat ring, but it started to heal.

    "Harm," Faith said impatiently, "how many times have I told you to quit worrying about your damn acrobatics until you have the basics right?" She plucked the fake stake out of Harmony's fingers. "You told me you wanted to learn to fight the right way, so I'm gonna teach you. This point, I'm thinking that means consequences when you screw up."

    "Y-you staked me!"

    "Good grasp of the obvious, which means you're still in one piece. Coulda been the real thing, you know?" Faith hauled her to her feet. "Two things, then--first, you gotta quit jumping around. Maybe one day, when you've got your head straight, that shit'll give you an edge. Right now, it's just an opening for the other guy. Second, where's your game face?"

    "It's not real," Harmony said. "We're just sparring. I don't have to look intimidating, and it's not like I need to bite you or anything." Faith rolled her eyes.

    "Oh yes you do." Harmony stared at her, dumbfounded. "Let's get something straight, Harm. Every fight is real. You may be hard to kill, fine. But you can break an arm or a leg, you can get your chest caved in, and yes, you can even get staked or have your head cut off. I'm not gonna kill you, not on purpose, but anyone can have accidents, even a vampire, and even a Slayer. And since every fight is real, you use the weapons you've got. You've got fangs. Get them out. You don't have to try to bite me every second, but you can make me worry about it."

    Harmony vamped out, still looking just as confused. "I didn't think you'd want me to."

    "And that matters to you?" Faith frowned. "I wouldn't have...hey, third thing, no cell phone." An inappropriately-merry ring tone was emanating from Harmony's pocket.

    "Sorry," Harmony said. "But in a real fight, I'd have my cell phone in case of emergency. Who's that?" She peered questioningly at the display. "Hello?"

    "Yeah, but you wouldn't answer." Faith gave up. "Who is it?" Harmony's eyes had gone wide, and her hands were shaking. Game face or no game face, she looked about as scary as a rabbit running for cover.

    "That's right," Harm said in her best confident voice. "I'm still here." She poked awkwardly at the volume button, still trembling.

    Buffy's voice emerged from the speaker, quiet but perfectly recognizable. "Wow. How many of them did you kill?" The tone carried a malicious sort of excitement. "I didn't think you had it in you. Of course, if you hurt Willow, Xander, Giles, or Dawn, I'll have to pay you back extra. Only fair, y'know?"

    "I didn't kill any of them. I mean, I thought Ms. Kaur was gonna stake me, but...Buffy, they haven't tried to hurt me at all. Except Faith, and I asked for that. We've been trying to tell you it'd be that way, Buffy. Just...come home."

    "They really have you tamed, don't they? At least, they think so."

    Faith had had enough. She grabbed the phone out of Harmony's hand, producing a squeal of protest. "Damn it, B, if you thought she was dead why'd you call her number? Why the hell can't you leave us alone?" The display showed that Buffy was calling from another cell phone--probably one she'd taken off a vampire.

    "Now there's a voice I expected to hear." Buffy's voice was all oozing malice now; the excitement had vanished. "She says you hurt her. And she asked for it. Being Li'l Miss Vampire Abuser, are we? You always said you wanted to boink the undead, but Harm? Don't you think that's kinda tacky?" Harmony made a face; evidently she thought so.

    "I'm training her to fight. She's gonna show up at your crypt one day and knock you on your ass, B, and the rest of us will be right behind her."

    "Please. The day that happens...well, there won't be any such day. Are you still keeping Angel around? I bet he's more fun now that he's all demon. Too stupid to brood any more, by the looks of this chick I tried the blood on."

    "Huh?" Faith stared at the phone. "Buffy, he's human. You made him human."

    A strangled noise emanated from the speakers. "What? No, dammit, he said 'fate worse than death'! He promised me! He even threatened me with it!" Buffy snarled over the phone; a burst of static erupted. And then nothing. The connection had vanished.

    Faith handed Harmony the phone; the vampire looked a little green. "So much for mercy," Faith muttered.

    "No," Harmony said, shaking her head. "I...I think she meant that part too. her way."

    Faith looked at her, not showing whether she understood. "Well, now what do we do?"

    "You don't look much like Charlize Theron," Harmony said with a shrug. "But I guess we get back to the vampire abusing." Faith blinked stupidly, and Harm smiled. For once, she'd caught Faith off guard. "It's a thing. I'll explain sometime." Her game face appeared again; Faith had missed when it vanished. "I wanna be ready. Let's fight."
    "Take 'em down," the vampire leader snarled. She wasn't looking at Laura or Kirsten, but beyond them at the smaller group of vampires huddled against the alley wall. Kirsten thought she looked about ten years old, but from the clothes, and the aura of her power, the girl might be about three times that. She had that eighties look about her. Plus she'd been leading a ragged chorus of "Kill the Beast" from the Disney movie, apparently without any awareness of the irony involved.

    "No," Kirsten said again. "Leave them alone. They haven't done anything to you."

    "To us?" The girl snickered. "That doesn't matter. We don't matter. They feed off humans. Well, we burned their nasty little place to the ground. They're next," she finished, waving her torch menacingly.

    "Kirsten," Laura said worriedly, "maybe they're right. Those two..." She pointed at two of the rearmost vampires they were standing in front of; the pair tried to squirm further behind the rest. "They don't even have souls. I think you might be defending the wrong side."

    "They haven't been hurting anyone," Kirsten tried to explain. "They drink bagged blood, when they can get it, and pay for it. They don't kill anyone when they feed. And they aren't the ones waving torches and burning down buildings. These...they didn't even know if there were humans inside."

    "They drink human blood!" someone shouted from the back of the mob. "They're monsters and they don't even care!"

    "We care," whined one of the cornered vampires unhappily. "You're using all the butcher's blood in town." If the mob heard, they didn't show it.

    "Kirsten..." Laura said insistently.

    "They're out of control," Kirsten insisted back. "You don't know what they'll do next."

    "I know what they're doing now," Laura responded. "And as bad as it looks...I think it's the right thing." She stepped forward and took a torch. "If you won't help, then get out of the way."

    "Up the wall," Kirsten murmured, hoping the trapped vampires would take her meaning. She'd seen it done before. Then she moved into Laura's path. "No," she said. "I won't."
    The road stretched on into the distance ahead of her. Highways...such a marvel. Highways and cellular phones. Sadha opened hers and dialed. "Good e-vening," she said theatrically.

    "And a good evening to you, Mistress," Ravensdale responded, the coded exchange demonstrating that he was alone. Sadha listened closely for background noise, but there was no real need. Of course, she'd told him not to call her "Mistress", but that never seemed to take, somehow.

    "I've been assigned, Ravensdale. Lure him out. Tell him I'm in Houston, if you think that will make him bite." Using the fellow like this was unpleasant, but it was all for the greater good, and never mind how it ached when she stared into Ravensdale's eyes. Never mind how it pinched to hear the worshipful tone in his voice. It had to be done.

    "It may, Mistress. Mr. Wyndham-Price is most interested in you."

    "He wants me destroyed, Ravensdale, but he doesn't have to do that in person. It'd be foolish, in fact. You need to give him a reason. You're a smart fellow. Come up with something."

    "I'll tell him you have acquired the Helm of Kasparov. He has a personal interest in that one himself." The Helm was one of a number of objects of power that had been lost...sometimes deliberately, because of the danger they posed to the world.

    "That should do the job. Thank you, Ravensdale. You're a good man."

    "I live to serve you, Mistress." And he did. He did. Sadha shut the phone off with a wince. Sometimes you just had to...what was the phrase? Bite the bullet.

    She put the pedal on the floor and headed east. Toward the sun.

    How fitting.
    Last edited by Mabus; 22-08-07, 02:47 AM.
    DeadWar: Burden of Proof
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