VI

"Okay. First, penis lady. She's easy. The scythe will do."

Buffy stood in the middle of her basement, hands on her hips, scanning her weapons collection for the right tools to take out Santa Lucia's latest Big Bad.

"Penis lady eggs? Hmm..." She needed something to burn them. What did Ripley use in Aliens to torch the eggs? Was it a flame thrower? Did flame throwers exist yet? Wait, maybe a flame thrower is the guy at the circus....

"Okay, no flame thrower. Maybe something to blow them up. Why don't I have grenades?"

'Because you're a purist Buffy', she thought to herself. But that wasn't exactly true. There'd been quite a few Big Bads requiring military firepower.

"Stupid Council. Where are they when you need them? They've got grenades..." she pouted.

Maybe she could use hairspray and a lighter like they did in the movies. But wouldn’t her hand catch fire? Unconsciously, she rubbed her scarred left palm against the side of her thigh.

"Okay, hairspray it is. Egg problem solved." Buffy left the basement, deciding her scythe, a lighter and a can of Super Stiff hairspray would do for weaponry. She headed to the kitchen next, going straight for her junk drawer.

The drawer was so full that it never fully closed. She opened it roughly, causing various odds and ends to spill out onto the floor. "Yikes. Why do I have so many packets of duck sauce?" Searching through the contents of the drawer, she inadvertently spilled out more.

"Rubber bands... batteries. Are these old or new? Argh... comb... candle... Ooh, matches!... No, Buffy... microwave instructions... screwdriver... stake... cookie cutter... lipstick... Ha! One lighter!" Pocketing the lighter and closing the junk drawer easily now that half its contents were on the floor, she headed to her bedroom closet for the right outfit.

"Okay, I need spit protection..." She pushed aside each item that wouldn't do. "What I need is a wet suit. Why didn't I take up diving?"

She finally settled on a pair of tight black leather pants and her fitted black leather jacket. "A tank top will have to do for underneath." Grabbing a tight white tank, she threw the items on her bed and proceeded to change.

"Okay, now comes the tricky part. Head gear. Hm..." Buffy stood in her room turning in circles, as if the perfect protective headgear against paralyzing saliva would reveal itself.

Ooh!" Racing back to her closet, she got on her hands and knees to reach the back corner and pulled out a black motorcycle helmet. She gave it a winning smile. "Thanks Angel." Buffy hadn't really needed the protection when she used to ride with Angel, but 'The law is the law' he'd always said.

Head to toe in leather, with her helmet under her arm, Buffy grabbed a can of Super Stiff from the bathroom on her way to her backyard.

"Alright, let's test this out." She decided to wear her helmet in case things went horribly wrong, and she wound up torching her too-long locks. Well, that'd be one way to get a haircut.

Pulling the lighter out of her pocket, she held the flame in her right hand, as far from her face as possible. Hair spray in her left hand, she sprayed a small amount out towards the flame, causing a short burst of fire.

"Wow. It really works!"

Trying again with more pressure, she managed to sustain a stream of fire without doing her hand any damage.

Awesome.

Satisfied with her homemade flame thrower, she now had to consider the matter of squeezing five girls into her Mini.

Eh, they'd work it out.

Buffy locked the back door as she returned inside, threw her hairspray and helmet in her bag with the scythe, and went back into the darkening night to do battle.

"Hairspray to the rescue!"

Bad joke, Buffy.


* * *

"Welcome home, sir."

Spike slammed the front door closed. "Shut it, Kit."

"Shut what, sir? The front door has already closed. And my name is not Kit, sir. It is C.H.E.R.I., for Comptel Home Efficiency and Recreation Interface, Model 5.0."

"D'accord. Ferme la bouche, ma cherie."

"Very well, sir."

Spike would've hit the road for Santa Lucia from the pub, but he'd figured a weapon might come in handy, so had back-pedaled home. Opening the sliding dividers to his bedroom, he went straight to the trunk at the foot of his bed, lifting the lid to his small armory.

"Pretty tricky carrying a sword on the bike without being noticed..."

Opting for a long blade that he could hide under his coat, he pushed aside his sword and grabbed the knife and holster.

"This should do."

He changed into a tight, black army sweater and cargo pants for the mission - not because he cared about the weather further north, but because it seemed more appropriate for the task. He also packed a small bag with a T-shirt and jeans for Vegas, in case he got bloody.

Fitting the holstered blade around his waist, he pulled his duster back on, threw his bag over his shoulder, and turned to leave.

"Good bye, sir," C.H.E.R.I. announced as he opened the front door.

"Shut it, Kit."

And C.H.E.R.I. shut the front door behind him.


* * *

Buffy threw her bag into the front passenger seat and opted to leave the car roof down in case the Mini proved too tight a squeeze for the girls. Since the eggs weren't due to hatch until tomorrow, she decided not to risk speeding. It was only a ten minute drive to Hillside, plus another few minutes to find a fairly discreet parking spot behind the Fuller Street house.

Driving slowly down River Street, Buffy spotted a parking space two houses down from the back of the house. Eyeing her surroundings from the car, she noticed an old man outside with his dog - though she wasn't sure who was walking who - and a gang banger hopping into his Beemer. She waited until the BMW had disappeared and the old man had turned the corner. Returning her gaze to the house, she saw that the windows in the back were all boarded up with no light peeking through. It didn't mean that suspicious eyes weren't peering through the cracks though.

There was no way to be stealthy in the burbs, so she grabbed her bag, shut the car door quietly, and walked to the back of the house as if she did it every day. Listening at the back door, she could hear nothing. Walking to one of the downstairs windows, she could see through a crack in the boards that the room was empty and dark. She checked the second downstairs window as well. No luck. If there were girls inside, they'd be upstairs, then.

Buffy turned the handle to the back door. Locked. Biting her bottom lip at the noise she was about to make, she subtly leaned her left shoulder against the door while scanning the street for onlookers, before forcing the door ajar. On peeking her head through the doorway, the stench of urine, feces and something disgustingly alien hit her nose, and she fought the urge to throw up her club sandwich. She must have digested it already, because in the end, all she could do was dry heave. Quickly, she dug into her bag for her scythe and helmet - slamming the helmet on her head and pulling the visor down over her face.

In no mood to stop and smell the shit, she searched the downstairs rooms efficiently, finding them equally filthy, and showing no signs of recent use. Walking to the front of the house, she noticed the stairs, and decided the only place to go was up.

The old wooden stairs didn't creak so much as groan under her weight. She winced, knowing that the penis lady was sure to have heard her. At least the girls wouldn't be in any danger, though. The demon needed them. But Buffy fully expected to be attacked the moment she hit the top stair.

To her surprise, the hallway on the second floor was equally abandoned. There were five doors on the floor, all closed.

"Okay. One by one," she mouthed silently.

Turning to her right, she approached the first door. She turned the knob, opening the door slowly, and edged over to peek through the crack. Closet. Leaving it open so as not make more noise, she checked the second door in a similar fashion.

Bedroom. Empty. Filthy. Check.

Third room: Ew! Bathroom. Disgusting. And alarmingly, not the primary source of the smell of shit.

Okay, that left two doors. Taking a deep breath and regretting it instantly because of the stench still coming through her helmet, Buffy slowly opened the fourth door. She caught the sight of a dirty bare foot even before she had fully eased it open.

"Oh my god." There was no point in being quiet now.

Five girls lay on the ground - their arms and feet shackled to the floor. The stench was coming from them, as they lay in their own excrement - their faces covered in what little vomit could escape the tape across their mouths. Scanning their forms for injuries, she was relieved to find them all fully-dressed, with no visible bite marks.

The vamps had only kidnapped them.

All but one of them appeared to be unconscious. On seeing Buffy enter the room, the only conscious girl began thrasing against her chains, eyes wide and pleading, her voice a series of broken and muffled cries. Clearly, the demon had been unable to keep them paralyzed forever.

Lifting up the visor of her helmet, Buffy reached to pull the tape from the girl's mouth before thinking better of it and stopping herself. The girl might start screaming about what had happened to her, and Buffy still had to check the fifth door.

The girl saw Buffy backing away and began thrashing even more.

"Quiet! Please!" Buffy whispered. "I promise you. I'm coming back." Buffy pointed in the direction of the fifth door, and the girl settled before nodding with understanding.

Turning to exit, Buffy lowered the visor on her helmet again. With her back to the wall, she edged closer to the fifth door - her scythe out in front of her, bag over her left shoulder. All the girls now accounted for, she opted for a dramatic entrance and kicked the door open, sending it flying off it's hinges.

"Whoa."

Here was the source of the alien stench.

The penis lady was no where to be seen. Instead, eight slimy pod thingies that came up to her knees were scattered haphazardly about the small room - one nestled on the bed, as if it were just put down for a nap. They were purplish-black in color, and covered in what looked like corded blue veins.

"Ugh."

Dropping her bag between two pods, she hastily fished out her hair spray, then dug into her pocket for her lighter.

"Wait. Free the girls, first. Then cook the eggs," she mumbled. Leaving her bag in the room, Buffy raced back to the fourth room with her scythe.

All of the girls were conscious now - no doubt awoken by the girl who'd seen Buffy - and looking wide-eyed at their rescuer.

Buffy figured the girls would want the tape removed from their mouths first, but she didn't want to answer a dozen questions while she was working. Lifting her visor to see better, she knelt down to the pair of feet nearest her, and inspected a shackle for the weakest point in it's short chain. She wouldn't have trusted anyone but herself to use the blade of the scythe to cut chains so close to the ankle. Backing up slightly, she lifted the scythe while focusing her eyes on the spot she'd chosen, and began to lower the blade.

"Mm Mm! Mm Mm!"

Buffy stopped mid-swing, turning disbelieving eyes to the owner of the shackled feet.

Clearly, the girl didn't trust Buffy's accuracy.

"Okay. Listen. You can trust me here, or you can stay here. I trust me. You should too."

The girl seemed to think for a second before nodding.

Refocusing her eyes on her chosen spot, Buffy could feel five sets of eyes on her, as she brought the blade down swiftly - freeing one ankle of it's shackle. More than one girl sighed in relief.

She made quick work of all the shackles, leaving the girls to remove the tape from their own mouths. To her surprise, no one said anything beyond "Thank you", as they let the tears flow freely and rubbed at their wrists and ankles.

Freeing the last girl from her shackles, Buffy stood up - the girls following with some difficulty after being in shackles for so long. "Okay, my car is outside. It's the black Mini with the top down, on River Street, just behind the house, two houses down. The doors are unlocked. I can take you guys to the hospital or home, whichever you need; but I've got to take care of the penis pods first."

The girls remained standing, blinking dumbly at her, as if confused.

"Okay, let's try this again. I'm here to rescue you. You're going to be okay, but only if you get out of here now. Leave the house as fast as you can and wait for me in the car. Here are the keys." Buffy placed them in the hand of the girl who had first seen her. "You can lock the doors, turn on the AC, whatever. If things look dicey, or if you see anything suspicious and feel unsafe, then leave me here and drive yourselves to the hospital. I can pick up the car later. Just leave the keys at the ER reception desk or something."

Buffy turned to leave the room, but then turned back. "I'd rather you wait for me, though. I won't be long."

She left the room at that, and heard the girls shuffling behind her.

After watching them clumsily descend the stairs on weakened legs, she waited until she heard them leave the house before going back to the fifth room.

"Ugh." It just didn't stop being gross. She grabbed her Super Stiff from the top of the bag, pulled her lighter out of her pocket, and lowered the visor on her helmet. The penis pod on the bed was the furthest from the door, and would set a good flame on the sheets, so she torched that one first. She was half expecting a baby penis to pop out screeching, and was relieved that the Sci Fi movies weren't entirely right.

Smoke was rapidly filling the room, and if she didn't act quickly, she'd probably faint from smoke inhalation. Spraying the top of each pod enough to catch them on fire, she rushed to close the door behind her and tried to set the door aflame too.

Quickly, she raced down the stairs, through to the kitchen, out the back door, and on to River Street to where she had parked the car.

The Mini was gone.

*  *  *

Author's notes:

Anyone else love C.H.E.R.I.? She's my favorite part of the chapter!

Anyone catch the fact that Buffy was killing the penis lady eggs with something called Super Stiff?