No, wait. Overused.
'Funny how things always seem to go your way when you're an evil genius...'
Warren pounded away happily on his latest entry in the log he'd been keeping since he, Andrew, and Jonathan banded together to take over Sunnydale.
"Hey! You...jerk! That's cheating!" came the high-pitched whine of Andrew behind him, accompanied by the clicking of controllers.
"Idiot, it's -not- cheating, you can't cheat in this game!" Jonathan replied, frustrated.
"But...but...you have me backed into a corner! And you're using that fast kicky thingy, I can't get away!" came the whiner.
"That's the -point-! Jeez, you're such a..."
"SHUT UP!" Warren finally screamed, causing the other two to flinch involuntarily and quiet down.
"See, now you made him yell..." one of them whispered quickly, before shutting up altogether.
Warren sighed. The things he had to put up with. Idiots. If he didn't need them....
'Things are looking up. Being on the lam is hard, but not without merits. One being free time. While the retards spend it bitching about video games, I found more important things to occupy my mind...'
Warren grinned to himself, and grabbed a small black controller that was resting near the computer. He wouldn't let it out of his sight. He flipped open the clear plastic safety shield, and idly fingered the three buttons on its surface: one green, one blue, and one red. He spun around in his chair, calling the others to attention.
"Gentlemen!" he interrupted another brewing argument, with Andrew seconds away from throwing his controller at Jonathan's head.
They stopped, of course, and turned to him with a sigh, putting their games aside.
"While you ladies were sucking your thumbs, I've come up with a plan....A foolproof plan to get the Slayer off our backs."
"What, we're not going to just kill her?" Jonathan asked, looking Warren dead in the eye.
The fearless leader smirked.
"Even better." he held up the controller with a flourish. "In my hand is the cure for all our problems."
The other two regarded him dubiously.
"You remember when Spike came? And I looked at his chip?" They both shuddered, and nodded.
"Well, I saved all the information. That baby was high tech. I knew that it would be useful. And it is. I've not only figured out what the chip does, I've figured out how to control it."
Andrew looked confused. Jonathan blinked at him.
"What does the chip do?" he asked.
"It's funny really. It zaps him whenever he tries to hurt a human being. When he was here? Even we could have taken him."
"No way! And we let him get away with...." Andrew started.
"Not important! The Fett is fine. The important thing is, we now have control. All we have to do is get close to him. Press this little button..." He ran his thumb over the green button. "...and the chip is totally in our control. It won't activate unless -we- activate it. Buffy thinks she has him trained?"
"Now we do a little training of our own...."
He turned back to his computer, chuckling to himself.
'And now we change the game. Now -we- make the rules....'
Buffy yawned and stretched, blinking sleep from her eyes. She smiled to herself. She felt....good. Well rested. She cuddled her sheet closer to her chin, breathing in the smell of...leather...cigarettes...dust....
Her eyes snapped open. Spike's crypt. In -Spike's- bed. God, what time was it?
She sat up slowly, carefully, looking over at the bed's other occupant. He still appeared to be sleeping. Good.
She pushed the sheet back and got up as quietly as a Slayer could manage. Looking around quickly to see if she was forgetting anything (and thanking the Powers she was fully clothed...) she started to tiptoe across the room to the ladder.
She made it halfway.
"See you tomorrow then, luv?" came the sleepy English accent from a tangle of sheets.
She froze, and gritted her teeth. Damn vampires. Stealthy exits were totally lost on him.
"Yeah," she said quickly, and against her better judgment, before darting up the ladder and out of the crypt.
Spike heaved a sigh, and rolled over. The hammering of her heart coulda woke the dead. And it did. The moment she realized where she was, he'd awakened as well.
He sat up slowly, testing to see if his head was still spinning. So far, so good.
Bloody slayer. He was getting right tired of getting shot down for trying to do the right thing. Hell, she hadn't meant to kill that girl. She hadn't even done it at all, from what Tara said. But behind bars? What the hell could she do to save the world? It wasn't like they'd grant her parole on the basis of impending apocalypse, right? And where would her sister be? In a foster family. Or even worse, with Daddy. Or her little Scoobies? He was -trying- to save her. Stupid bitch.
'God I love 'er....'
He stumbled out of bed, and made it up the ladder without serious injury. And then to the fridge. He'd eat, then sleep some more. Hopefully, it'd only take a few days to heal up. Not likely, considering the pounding he had taken. But he could always hope.
He slammed the fridge shut, and slummed into his recliner, pulling the top of a container of cold blood. He wished for not the first time that he had a microwave as he downed the thick liquid in quick gulps. Pig's blood wasn't the best, but cold it was downright disgusting.
It had surprised the hell out of him, Tara's visit. The girl had barely spoken three whole words to him the entire time he'd known her. And suddenly she was mama bear? But she was right. He didn't know what world he lived in. Hell yeah he did. He didn't live in -any- world. The Scoobies wouldn't accept him. Would -never- accept him. And he killed his own kind. He was a traitor in the eyes of the demon world.
He looked around. THIS was his world. Alone in his crypt. The only place he really belonged.
He was startled from his thoughts by the sound of footsteps outside. He sighed. Setting the now empty container aside, he struggled to his feet. The door opened.
"Slayer, I really don' wanna talk right now, so if you could just be on your merry...."
But it wasn't the Slayer who entered. He tilted his head, and trailed off, staring at the dark-haired man before him. Robot-boy.
"What the heck happened to you?"
Spike growled, drawing himself up.
"You should see the other guy. An' if ya don' get the 'ell outta my crypt, you'll be lookin' at 'im in the mirror."
"Naw. It's cosy here. Oh, and I wanted to tell you. Found out a little something more about your chip. It's neat really." He pulled out a small, black controller.
"Not a hard signal to replicate, once you put your mind to it." He held it out before him, and pushed a button on its surface.
Spike's eyes widened. Then rolled back in his head. Blackness came like an oncoming car. No warning.
And as though someone had hit his 'off' button, Spike crumpled to the floor.
Continued in Chapter 4