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Red	By : Prophecy Category: -Buffy the Vampire Slayer > General Views: 5499 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter Two: Locked

The grass is prickly and still wet with morning dew when they let me out into the courtyard. That’s what they call it, anyway, but I’ve never seen a courtyard with 12-foot-high electric fences. They used to be wrought iron, very old school, with barbed wire on top. They learned fast, though.
I slashed open my hands and thighs when I escaped. Ran bleeding through the woods and heard the dogs and the men and the guns behind me. The cluttered ground ripped the pads of my feet to shreds and I knew it was over, knew the scent of my blood would pull the dogs in whatever direction I went, but I couldn’t give up. Even when they had cornered me, the dogs nipping at the cuts on my feet and thighs as I lay curled on the ground, bleeding from the bullet that hit my knee, I screamed and kicked with my good leg as my body vibrated with the pain of the hot metal in my flesh. I beat my heel and my fists against the bodies that restrained me even as they injected me with something that knocked me out, refusing to back down.
I never back down.
After that, I watched through the barred windows as a crew tore down the gates and replaced them with the electrified bars that I learned quickly would stop my heart if I touched them. There was no escaping that way. Nor, Quentin had assured me, was there escaping any other way. Even if the men and the dogs and the guns didn’t get me, the woods would. Hundreds of miles in every direction. Not even a road, he told me. I should be honored that it took a private plane to get anyone out here. And trust him, he said, nobody on any of those planes was going to help me. This was it, this was my life now, and it’d be easier for everyone if I just got used to it.
What do I have to look forward to, then, I asked him. Why shouldn’t I hang myself with a sheet or grab that electric fence and hold on until every last cell in my body was thoroughly fried and destroyed, my body ready for the worms. Why not, why not? It’s not like I’m scared of death, I taunted him. I’d rather be dead than be your pet.
He nonchalantly sipped a glass of scotch and smiled a little bit, patiently explaining that even if I should manage to outsmart them and achieve the foolish goal of killing myself, there were shamans and witches and all sorts of dark magic. He spun me a future of being strapped to a bed, killed with electrodes, my heart stopped for a full minute before bringing me back. He said they would do it over and over and over, see how many slayers they could activate. Build an army to rival the one we built in Sunnydale, an army under Council control. Rip your precious Buffy to shreds and feed her to the dogs, he promised.
I must have gone pale and he knew he’d hit a sore spot, my Achilles heel. Oh yes, he told me. We know all your secrets. We know everything. We even know how you told her it didn’t mean anything to you, and you were just feeding a need after the big battle in Sunnydale. She was nothing to you, a convenient fuck is all. We know how hurt she was, and how much you wanted to admit your lie. But it was better for her to move on, that’s the lie you told yourself. Better this way for both of you, right? You think when you moan her name in the middle of the night, that you’re dreaming of a future that will ever happen? The life you’ll never have? Isn’t it enough that you broke her heart? Do you really want to be the reason we break her body, too?
I squat down and run my fingers over the damp grass. My life is hell. I’m stuck in hell and nobody cares. The one person who did care, I pushed away so hard she probably uses my name as a dirty word now, if she uses it at all.
I’m not stupid. I know everything Quentin said he’d do, he would. With or without me, he would find Buffy and conquer her and take out whoever helps her. The council would rule over the Slayer line once again, and nobody was going to stand in their way. What kept me from that fence was time. If I could stay alive and out of chains, there might be an opening someday. Some way I could at least warn her of what’s coming. Give her time to prepare for it, maybe even make a preemptive strike.
I know that I am going to die here. I don’t have any delusions of escape or freedom or anything good ever again. Maybe they shocked hope out of me too—who knows? But I can do one last thing, at least. I can tell Buffy what’s going to happen, and I can tell her that I lied—that she’s anything but nothing to me. I just need the right opening. Someday, one of them will make a mistake. Leave me in reach of a phone or a computer. I know it will happen, and I have to be ready when it does. Not sedated and shocked into compliance—clear-headed enough to know when it’s time to strike. I need to warn her. I need to make up for some of the bad. And until then, I need to protect her the only way I can now—by letting them hurt me any way they want and pretending that I’m breaking without actually doing it.
So I wait.
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