Friday January 23th, 2004

“Check the view screen, Uhura,” Andrew was working himself into a righteous tizzy of geek-ire. “I got twelve Vampyr Slayers behind me, and not one of them has ever dated you. She's coming with us one way or another.”

The slayers in question were scanning the area. All of them wanted this mission to go over without a hitch, but all of them also knew how fast a situation could go straight down the crapper.

Despite their vigilance, you had to admit that there was more than a little humor in the situation. At least, that was what Nicky O’Mallory thought.

On the outside, Nicky’s face was stern, forbidding, but on the inside she was trying not to laugh. Vampyr Slayers indeed. But as funny as Andrew Wells could be when his D&D days got the better of him, all of the slayers were there waiting on his order. He was like a team mascot to them: a little scruffy, a little funny, with a head, feet, and hands that were just a little too large for his frame, but well loved. There wasn’t a girl there who wouldn’t lay down her life to protect him.

Not that Nicky was expecting it to come to that.

If Angel and his lawyers thought they could take their new sister away without pulling back more than a few bloody stumps, they had another thing coming. Andrew had said twelve, but there were actually fourteen of them. Vivian and Min had taken to the rooftops earlier, and their crossbows were trained on the crowd below. It was a strong precaution, but one that had proved necessary in the past. Their presence alone made Nicky feel much more secure.

“You're way out of your league. I'll just clear this with Buffy,” Angel said in a superior tone of voice. He was shorter than Nicky had expected from the stories. Kind of chunkier, too. She could not see what the General had seen in him.

Everyone, well, everyone except his cadre of slayers, seemed shocked at Andrew’s incredulous response. “Where do you think my orders came from? News flash! Nobody in our camp trusts you anymore,” he paused for dramatic effect, “Nobody. You work for Wolfram and Hart. Don't fool yourself. We're not on the same side.” He started backing away, gesturing the slayers forward. “Thank you for your help but, uh... we got it.”

Nicky stepped forward, mirth at their ‘leader’s’ desire for a dramatic exit effectively squelched by the appearance of the girl strapped on the stretcher in front of them.

Dana, Andrew had said. Her name was Dana.

She looked like hell, dressed in blood spattered plaid and grungy jeans. Her dark eyes were half-lidded, drugged and delirious. Nicky took one of the corners next to the girl’s head, leading her towards the waiting vans. She and the others couldn’t get her loaded and away from the docks fast enough.

They were celebrating another successful mission on one of the Council’s private jets when Min arrived, looking grungy but pleased under her tactical gear and face paint.

They waited for Vivian for hours.

She never showed up.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Agent Matthew Winkowsky, The Initiative, General Report, January 25th, 2004.

“…We seem to be looking at two epicenters: one in L.A. and the other in London. I believe that the spread could be better contained if not for the anomalies that have been appearing amongst the affected. The vast majority are slow and virtually mindless, though if left unchecked, they will have vastly superior numbers on their side. However, the anomalies are a different matter. They are faster and stronger than their counterparts, and retain at least nominal awareness of their surroundings…”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Nicky, Svetlana, Min, Courtney suit up.” Andrew said over the intercom system in what the girls called his ‘Charlie’ voice.

The four scrambled, grabbing favorite weapons, both ranged and hand-to-hand, some of the futuristic body armor that the Council’s Research and Development wing had started fabricating, and the day packs full of clothes, makeup, you know, the real necessities of life. Once they were geared up to everyone’s satisfaction, they filed through the divider that separated the rear cargo area, where Dana was being watched over by the rest of her slayer guard, and into the front passenger area where Andrew was waiting for them.

Andrew himself was sitting in the front of the cabin, jabbering away in his green flip phone with the holographic Zelda sticker on the back. When Nicky got closer, she could almost make out Rupert Giles’ voice. Vivian was missing and the Head of the New Council was on the line. In general, that meant that things were bad, bad, bad.

‘So much for that weekend trip to Dublin…’

“Uh huh… uh huh,” Andrew was nodding mechanically while drumming his fingers at a breakneck pace on his armrest. “I’ll tell them. Of course I still have the emergency packet!” he sounded aggrieved at that, but was soon back to his nodding and agreeing.

Finally, the phone clicked closed, and Andrew looked up at the four slayers he had called with a long-suffering sigh. He reached under his chair and pulled out a cheap, pleather suitcase. He started riffling through it with gusto, pulling out candy wrappers, a few official-looking folders, and a Fantastic Four comic book. At the very bottom was an extremely battered, manila folder. When Andrew held that one up, the girls could plainly see the fluffy drawing of a mushroom cloud with the words “This Message Will Self Destruct in Less Than Twelve Parsecs” written across it in colorful script.

‘Hookay, weird…’

Andrew, despite the kind of ridiculous envelope in his hands, was all seriousness. “Here’s the situation, ladies. Vivian is missing and, well, we’ve already run through half of our supply of tranquilizers on Dana. Plus? HQ needs some intel on L.A.’s resident attourney-vampyr.” He handed Courtney the battered folder. “That’s bank codes, phone numbers, instructions for getting some nifty gadgets, everything you need to go totally Splinter Cell on this town. Court, you’re team leader. Mr. Giles told me to ask you to keep the expenses reasonable this time.”

Nicky couldn’t help it, she started giggling. Fortunately the other slayers did too, but after a dubiously stern look from Andrew, they managed to quiet down. That mission in Rio had been months ago, and they had been ordered to infiltrate that party… Yup, it had been worth every second that they had spent being reamed out by Council Head. Every. Single. Second.

“Er, anyway…” Andrew continued, looking a little embarassed. “You guys know the drill, but I’d also like to ask you for a, uh, more delicate favor while you're here. Did you get a good look at the other vampyr? The one who got his hands cut off.”

Nicky wasn’t stupid. Neither were the other slayers. They all had a pretty good idea of who that blond vampire had been, which either meant tons of gossip material or tons of trouble was about to head their way. Probably both. They all nodded.

“I need you to keep an eye on him, too. Both eyes, when you can spare them,” Andrew’s eyes twinkled under his serious mein. The boy could quote, or misquote, movies like the General could spout slaying and shopping advice. “Send those reports to me, and me alone. This situation could get… volatile. Like, Level Nine Meteor Swarm volatile. Capiche?”

Courtney, as she always did, took the lead. “So, find Vivian, spy on Angel and Spi… the other vampire,” she amended at Andrew’s panicked look, “maintain tight op sec, and, uh, don’t overhaul our wardrobes. Check.”

Andrew’s pained expression, as well as the patently innocent look on Courtney’s face, prompted another round of giggles from the girls.

“Don’t worry,” Min teased. “We know what to do, boss.”

That finally prompted a smile from Andrew. “I know, my little paduans. You have been trained well.” He took a deep breath, the kind that tended to presage a long-winded discourse on midi-chlorians, flux capacitors, or whatever.

Courtney grabbed up her rucksack and the fat manila folder, talking quickly to forstall the lecture. “No time to waste, Vivian could be anywhere, will report tomorrow morning!” She scampered out of the fusilage and down the stairwell before Andrew could get a word in sideways, the others following suit, close behind.

Four slayers, in search of a lost companion, but otherwise footloose and fancy free.

‘Maybe missing Dublin won’t be so bad.’

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Okaaaaay,” Min drawled. “Maybe she didn’t just fall asleep on the job.”

Svetlana looked around the rooftop, glaring in every shadow as if it held a vamp or two. “Are you sure this is the place?” she asked in her lilting accent.

“Oh yeah, I was over there,” Min pointed to a neighboring warehouse. “We could see each other clear as day. She was right here.” At the petite slayer’s insistence, the others dropped the point. For all intents and purposes, Min was the sniper of the group, with keen eyes and a sharp mind. If she said that she had seen Vivian here, she had.

Nicky, who had been keeping half an ear open to the conversation called out, “Hey guys?”

“What’s up Nick?” Courtney asked, jumping down from the large airconditioning unit that she had been using to get a better vantage of the dockside.

Nicky looked up from the puddle of goo at her feet. “Did Vivian look a little, you know, green on the flight over?” she asked. At Svetlana’s alarmed look, she elaborated. “Green, sick, not green, green.”

Svetlana’s English was actually quite good, but she was still having to figure out the wide spectrum of slang terms used by the other girls. It didn’t help that the slayers and trainees who had spent a lot of time at the Council’s Academy in London were starting to hybridize the local lingo with whatever regional baggage they brought with them. Pretty soon, they’d have their own dialect: slayer pidgeon. The thought made Nicky smirk to herself.

“She was awful quiet,” Min said, which was a polite way of saying that Vivian hadn’t spent the trip talking about the awesomeness that was Vivian. “Why?”

“Because this looks like puke,” Nicky responded matter-of-factly.

Courtney walked over quickly, ignoring Min’s quiet “Ew,” and Svetlana’s meu of istaste. “Huh,” she breathed in thought. Courtney was the oldest of them by some six years, and that age gap, along with her natural charisma, meant that the younger slayers tended to defer to her.

“What d’ya think, Court?” Nicky asked, a little worry creeping into her voice.

Min and Svetlana overcame their reluctance and joined the other two over the gooey puddle. “Is that blood?” Min asked, crouching down to get a better look at the puddle.

Sure enough, there was a red stain throughout the puddle.

“Might be,” Courtney finally said, arms crossed over her chest. “Okay, we need to search the area more thoroughly. There’s messages at the airport if Vivian was just wildly late, but at this point, I think we’ve got to assume that something else might be going on here.” When the other three nodded in agreement, she continued. “Nicky, you and Svetlana go north up the bank. Min and I will head south. Everybody keep your bags with you,” at the ensuing groan, she held up a quieting hand. “I know, but we’ll be seriously up a creek if some hobo runs off with our stuff before we get back. Stick to the warehouse district for now, and don’t be afraid to use the walkie-talkies if you run into trouble. We’ll meet back here in an hour. Okay?”

Svetlana and Min only nodded, but the question earned a jaunty salute from Nicky. “Aye, aye Captain.” Courtney rolled her eyes good naturedly. Nicky was the youngest one in the group at only fifteen, and acted it more often than not. As long as she got the job done, none of the others seemed to care, a fact of which Nicky was well aware.

“Shoo!” Courtney said with an indulgent grin.

Nicky didn’t need to be told a second time. She scampered down the fireescape and into the alley with all the enthusiasm of youth, a more sedate Svetlana hot on her heels.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“This is boring. Vivian’s probably puking up the in-flight mystery meat in some skeezy diner between here and the airport.” Nicky kicked at an empty crate that had tumbled into her path. The rotten wood shattered under her half-hearted assault, which after the months since her latent slayer powers had been brought to the surface was still pretty neat.

“Perhaps,” Svetlana agreed, all seriousness and clipped phrases as usual. The statuesque blonde had enough work ethic for both of them, which was probably why Courtney had partnered them together.

Thing got a lot less boring in a hurry when a scream cut through the still night air.
Almost immidiately the walkie-talkies on both of the slayers’ hips crackled. “Nick, Svet, everything okay?” Courtney’s voice sounded tiny from the device, but the worry was plain.

Nicky grabbed the little black reciever and depressed the talk button. “Not us, Court. Sounds nearby though.” Nicky shared a look with Svetlana before they both took off in an easy lope towards the direction of the cry. “Meet you there,” she said into the walkie-talkie before clipping it back on her belt without breaking stride.

“Right, be careful you two.” After Courtney’s parting shot, the crackling connection was severed.

“Yes, mom,” Nicky muttered under her breath.

Svetlana just smiled her thin-lipped smile in response, an expression that was wiped from her face when another scream, closer and tinged with a gurgling, hoarse edge, dragged them both to the present.

Both slayers put on another burst of speed, more determined to reach whoever it was who was in trouble and more certain of that person’s location. Svetlana’s longer legs carried her ahead of Nicky during the run, so when the younger slayer rounded the last corner, she almost slammed directly into the tall slayer’s suddenly still form.

“Whoa, Svet! Give a girl a warning, huh?” Nicky complained, but was met with no response. “Svet?”

She followed the silent slayer’s wide-eyed gaze until it came to rest on a pile of rags on the sidewalk. No… not a pile of rags.

‘Oh God.’

Nicky blanched white as snow when she realized that the wet, torn mess in front of them had once been a human being. A dock guard, if the caution-orange vest and black (or was it blue, it was hard to see through all the blood) uniform were to be believed.

They were too late. Whatever had done this had been and gone.

A sick feeling rose in the pit of Nicky’s stomach. This wasn’t her first dead body, not by a long shot, but seeing one, wondering what she could have done to prevent the person’s death, never got any easier.

Both girls started when a low moan, wet and filled with pain, came from the body.

“Oh, God Svet. He’s still alive!”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Nicky was sulking.

Courtney was off talking to the EMTs and the police with Svetlana. Min was somewhere on the roofs above, keeping watch as usual.

The man, they still didn’t know his name, had been loaded into the back of an ambulance and taken away a few minutes ago. He had gone crazy, probably from the pain of his injuries, soon after Nicky and Svetlana had found him. The slayers had been forced to restrain him while Courtney called 911. He had been strong, surprisingly so, especially given his condition. Keeping him pinned without hurting him further had been a pain.

When one of the EMTs started in her direction, Nicky ran through the cover story Courtney had crafted for them.

‘Sorority initiation. Just found him like this. No idea what happened. Yes officer, we’ll never go out after dark again…’

“Nicky?” the young man asked.

Nicky sized him up in a glance. He was cute, but man was he old. He had to be thirty, at least. “That’s me,” she said flatly.

“Your friend told me you might be hurt. I just wanted to check you out, make sure everything’s okay,” his voice was low and calm, pitched in such a way as to brook no argument.

Nicky glanced over his shoulder and saw Courtney looking her way. It took every ounce of self control to keep from sticking her tongue out at the older slayer.

“Nope, all fine here,” she chirped with false ease.

“You sure?” the EMT asked, eyeing her pointedly.

Nicky looked down at herself. She was a mess; there was blood everywhere. “Oh, this? It’s his,” she said, and in truth, it was. Well, mostly. “Kind of need a bath,” she mumbled, tugging down her right sleeve to cover the ragged cut there.

There was no way in hell she was going to admit to this guy, or the others, that she had slipped up and gotten bit by a regular old human. That was just embarassing, and it’d be healed up by morning anyway. No scar, no evidence, no harm, no foul.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

From the autobiography of Russell Santiago, Medicine and Madness

“…We had never faced anything like it in all our training. None of us, from the interns to the directors, had the first idea how to handle the outbreak. One of the first things we did was contact the CCDC, but they didn’t know what to do either. We followed procedure, locked down the affected wings of our hospitals and put our best people searching for a cure.

How were we to know there wasn’t one?

In the end, all we did was delay the inevitable. When our hospital doors opened again, it was to spill death and destruction into the streets of Los Angeles…”