Goodbye, Spike

BY : SpikesEvilbint
Category: BtVS AU/AR > General
Dragon prints: 1449
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Goodbye, Spike


Spike couldn’t remember much these days. He could feel even less. The memory of his recapture by The Initiative mercifully had gone from his mind. The pain of the tazer blast that incapacitated him. The snap of his neck when he was strapped face down to the operating table. The spreaders put between two cervical vertebrae that enabled Maggie Walsh to sever his spinal cord and hold it permanently apart, preventing the enhanced vampiric healing from being able to work. He’d passed out by then of course. The pain, before his body was paralysed by the severing of his spinal cord, was too intense to remain conscious…


These things haunted and tormented him for the first weeks of his new existence, until the drugs began to take effect; but although they faded, they never completely left him.


00000000000


He was blind when he woke. What he didn’t know was that his eyes were the first organ harvested for transplantation. The corneas would restore the sight of a human. The sounds that he heard had both puzzled him and terrified him at first. He couldn’t move at all; not even his head. He could hear a swishing sound but had no idea what it meant. Then dimly he heard voices. He concentrated hard but the words remained an indistinct mumble. Then, he heard a loud click and was aware of warmer air hitting his face.


“Check that the tubes are all working correctly,” said Maggie Walsh as she looked down at the stricken vampire in his specially designed container. It resembled a coffin shaped refrigerator; ensuring that its occupant was stored at the optimum temperature to keep it in prime condition until ready to be used.


Spike tried to wet his dry, cracked lips with his tongue, but it too felt as parched as a desert.


“W…what…are…y…you…doing…to…me,” he managed to croak, his voice sounding nothing like it should.


“Why is this still able to speak?” snapped Maggie at the hapless assistant currently checking the tubes running in to and out of Spike’s body.


“Dr. Petersen said that he may have a customer for its larynx. We will know by tomorrow,” replied Michael.


“Oh…God,” rasped Spike as he heard her words. What the fuck was going to happen to him? He recognised the bitch’s voice so he knew that he was back in The Initiative, but why couldn’t he move? Why was he blindfolded? What was going to happen to him?


“Shut up, Seventeen,” said Maggie. “This is why rendering them mute at the first instance is the best course of action. Saves me having to listen to the donors moaning all the time.”


Donors? Oh Christ. Spike was so terrified he couldn’t manage to speak.


“So, Michael, status report?” barked Maggie.


Michael started a little as she spoke. She was a remarkable woman-a world leader in her field-but she was tough to work for. He quickly completed checking the apparatus surrounding Seventeen in its pod.


The pump is working beautifully. All of the organs and limbs are now ‘pinking up’. They will be ready for harvesting from tomorrow onwards.”


Spike tried to shout, to rail against what he was hearing but his dry mouth only managed to emit a piteous moan. A hand was harshly clamped over his mouth.


“Carry on, Michael. I’ll keep it quiet.”


“All the readings are as expected at this stage. Internal organs are back to pre-vampirism status. He…er…it,” Michael quickly corrected himself, “must have been a healthy, fit young human. We’re estimating its age, at point of turning, as late twenties which is perfect for the programme.”


“Excellent,” replied Maggie. “Now shut the pod before the temperature changes too much.” She pressed harder on to Spike’s mouth, his cracked lips split open. “Finally, vampire, you’re of use to society.”


With that she released her grip on him, and before he could react, there was a rush of air followed by a loud click. The voices were muted once more. Spike was glad of it. A tear squeezed out of the corner of his left eye, somehow managing to get past the sewn together eyelids that covered the empty sockets where once his vivid blue eyes had been.


Maggie and Michael walked along the corridor in the facility. On each side of the pathway were pods identical to the one containing Spike. A pump swishing as it performed the functions of the vampires’ un-beating heart in forcing blood through the veins and arteries in the creature’s body. This one building housed five hundred vampire donors. Plans were already in place for another two similar buildings and that was just the beginning.


00000000000


Maggie Walsh was feted by all who met her. Her innovative research - once a closely guarded Government secret - was now on the world stage. She was in line for a Nobel Prize for the advances in medical science that she had pioneered. Waiting lists for organ transplants were soon to be a thing of the past. One vampire could be used for many transplants, and her revolutionary, and very successful, limb transplants were going to change the lives of amputees the world over. So far the supply of vampires for the programme was seemingly endless. Now they were in the public eye, branches of The Initiative were being opened world-wide.


Maggie Walsh was a very, very rich woman.


0000000000


When a subject was selected for a procedure, an automated system brought the pod from its storage position to the operating room. The morning after Maggie Walsh inspected Spike’s statistics; he felt a jolt and heard a buzzing sound as his pod made its journey to the operating room. It swayed slightly and his head rocked from side to side.


Two assistants were waiting to open the lid. Both were pleased to have been warned that this one still had its speech, because as soon as the lid was open they were greeted by the creature’s pathetic pleadings.


“Help…me…please. Don’t.”


“Sorry pal,” said one of the assistants, sounding anything but. “It won’t hurt, so don’t worry about it.” Both men laughed nastily.


“Hang on,” said the second. “This one is scheduled for the larynx. Isn’t that above where the paralysis starts?”


“You’re right. I guess it’s gonna hurt some after all.”


“Kill me,” whispered Spike desperately.


“Can’t do that. You’re way too valuable for that. You could be here for years.”


The two men clipped straps on to the board that Spike’s inert body was secured to within the pod. At a push of a button, he was raised out of the pod and carried over to the operating table where Dr Petersen was waiting.


“Thank you, boys.”


The men left.


“Kill me. Please,” repeated Spike.


“You’ll be all right. In a few more days the drugs will begin to erase your memories. It will be much less distressing for you after that.”


“No.” Spike was terrified. This wasn’t how he should end up. He should go out in a fight. Fists and fangs flying. Not as a bleeding victim of vivisection.


“We have only just perfected the successful harvesting of the larynx. Yours will be the first to be transplanted in to a proper recipient rather than an experimental procedure on a prisoner on death row.”


Spike’s mind reeled. The bastard was talking like he should be proud that he was going to get mutilated for some anonymous human to benefit. Several tears forced their way out between his eyelids.


“Oh dear, Seventeen. I’m sorry that this will be so painful. I would have preferred to have done it on one whose mind was cleared but you were the optimum match. Using anaesthetics compromises the tissue you see,” said Dr Petersen conversationally just before sinking a surgical scalpel in to Spike’s throat.


Spike screamed.


It was cut off abruptly as the larynx was cut from his throat. The scream was the last noise that he would ever make. He passed out and was back in his pod when he recovered. His throat was agony.


0000000000


Spike couldn’t remember much these days. He wasn’t aware of much either. For both of these things he would have been grateful had his mind still been capable of such thoughts.


Clipped to the bottom of his pod was a list of organs removed and the number of human patients that he had helped. The lists were long. Cancer victims were now free of the disease thanks to him. Amputees had the use of limbs once more.


The facility was buzzing with excitement. A VIP was visiting for the first time. Four years on from its official opening the now retired Slayer had finally consented to look around at what had essentially done her work for her. Military squads captured vampires. A breeding programme had now been put in place with convicts given life sentences being used. Once a vampire had sired another, it was then taken to the pods. This process being repeated with every new convict’s arrival. They had now branched out in to capturing demons – with laboratories working around the clock to find uses for them. Even if they were simply destroyed after the experiments, the capture crews were much more efficient than a single Slayer no matter how ‘Chosen’ she was.


Buffy felt sick. She walked next to Maggie Walsh past a seemingly endless row of pods. Was this progress? Was this right? It felt wrong. If it were dogs or monkeys in these pods the public outcry would have closed the place down, but no one cared about vampires. Not when they could cure granny’s cancer and so much more.


Buffy came to a halt when Maggie did. Maggie lifted the clipboard from the its rack. “This subject is almost completed harvested. As you can see, the benefits to humans that it has provided has been immense.” Buffy zoned out – feeling even more nauseous than she previously was. The list was seemingly endless. Liver, kidneys, lungs and even the stomach had been harvested. Eyes, larynx, right leg including the hip joint, left leg from six inches below the knee; the fingers of the right hand and the left arm including the shoulder joint.


“What?” Buffy was sure that she hadn’t heard correctly.


“I said that we’ve even used one of its ears on a burns victim. It took beautifully.”


“Christ,” muttered Buffy under her breath.

“When we’ve taken all that we can we harvest the skin from the torso and then dust them. It’s so convenient that they’re so easily disposed of,” said Maggie as she unlatched the lid. “Take a look.”


“They’re unconscious, right?”


“Unaware, would be more accurate.”


Buffy didn’t want to look in that pod. She really didn’t but her eyes seemed to have a mind of their own. The sight of the truncated body lying on the metal base of the pod turned her stomach to the extent that she was glad that she hadn’t eaten breakfast. At first glance, the vampire appeared to be female but as she looked at the neat closure of where the right leg and hip had been removed, she realised that the genitals had also succumbed to the surgeon’s knife. A thin scar was all that remained.


Maggie noticed where Buffy’s eyes were drawn. “That was done purely for research purposes,” she explained helpfully. “We’re sure that we’ll soon be able to use the bodily secretions for some beneficial remedy.”


Buffy’s eyes once again took on a life of their own as she found her gaze going towards its face. Her heart stopped. She grabbed the side of the pod for support as she finally lost the battle with nausea and doubled over reaching violently.


It was Spike. It was the remnants of that most beautiful of vampires. She recalled his grace in a fight, his swaggering gait, how annoying he could be. The images in her mind of him so full of life despite being dead, of his platinum blond locks, the way he tilted his head on one side, they were all erased by the sight of him laying there. Cut to pieces. Parts of him living on in some human or other. But the thing that made her ill was the fact that he was wordlessly mouthing her name. By what ungodly definition was that being unaware of what was happening?


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Spike heard the click; he felt the warm blast of air. Then he sensed something different; something that he should know. Slowly, it came to him through the confused mess of his mind. The Slayer. Buffy. He tried to speak; to say her name. More noises then the lid clicked shut.


“No!” he silently screamed. “Don’t leave me like this. Buffy!”


Then his senses dulled once more, and he was left with merely the feeling that something unusual had occurred but with no idea what.


000000000


“Are you all right?” asked Maggie Walsh a touch impatiently. “I would have thought the Slayer would have a stronger stomach.”


“Uh…it must have been the chicken I ate yesterday. Is there a bathroom I can use please?” asked Buffy, desperate to get away from the pod.


Maggie gave her directions and then told Buffy that she’d be waiting in her office for her afterwards. Buffy gratefully hurried away. In the bathroom, she pulled out a stake from the specially designed pocket in her jacket, and rolled it around in her hand. Tears were coursing down her face. She knew what she had to do.


00000000000

Spike heard the click; he felt the warm blast of air. Then he sensed something different; something that he knew.


“Buffy,” he tried to say.


“Oh, Spike. I’m so sorry.”


A shaft of pain went through his mind at her use of his name. He’d almost forgotten it.


“Buffy.” He wished that he could speak so that she knew that he remembered her.


He felt a warm hand caress his face.


“Yes, it’s me, Spike. It’s Buffy,” she said softly.


She leaned in to the pod and placed a kiss on Spike’s cold dry lips as she rammed the stake through his tube infested heart. The dust blew in her face making her cough. An alarm went, off and Buffy raced for the exit.


“Goodbye, Spike.”


The End.


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