Emma's words rang true; I wasn't ready to wage war. It left me with no other choice, but to watch, wait and learn. The next two years brought untold horrors, which only proved her point.
My job at the library remained secure. They didn't ban books, thank goodness. The city still felt a need for higher learning and a librarian. Emma's death left the spot open and I became the Head Librarian, really the only Librarian, suddenly the need for an assistant had vanished.
Martial law and curfews, common practices in the US and Great Britain, had branched out into other countries as well, including Spain, Italy, even Holland. The two Super Powers controlled the drug and technologies that had created the super soldiers and the other countries wanted them. They signed peace treaties, agreeing to destroy their nuclear weapons, which I had to admit was a good thing. Yeah, team. The bad came when every citizen had to report to 'clinics' for testing. In other words, they culled out the people needed to create the soldiers, the ones that could handle my DNA. I wondered what Maggie had used, since she no longer had a live donor. She must have created a synthetic substitute that provided the same effects. I added the manufacturing plants and clinics to the my quickly growing hit list. Kill the head and the body withered.
I had started hunting again. Clothing myself in black, I blended with the night, creeping along rooftops, alley ways, and yes, even graveyards, although no demons or vampires crossed my path. I enjoyed several good slays nonetheless. Dark shadows crept along the streets, knocking on doors, slithering into homes. They brought the night inside, leaving black, ugly stains behind. Pain filled screams came from windows where safety and comfort should tarry. Pleas for mercy, offerings of money, anything to stay the dark from harming the light. The dark had no mercy. It heard nothing, felt nothing, but its own hunger and greed. Its own needs were the only ones that mattered in this world gone mad. I crept into such a home one night, the night I killed my first true demon; not one twisted by a sociopath, or kept underground never seeing the sunlight, but one that had chose its path simply because it felt it had the right.
The owners eyes went wide when I motioned for them to remain silent. I kept my face shadowed with a hood, knowing that this time I truly needed remain secret identity girl. Drawing a silver blade from my vest, I moved closer to a small room where weeping and grunting intertwined. I crept carefully forward, happy to see that the idiot had left the door ajar in his haste. Pushing it open wide enough to sight my target, I threw the knife before he could finish another thrust. He gave a pitiful gasp and fell onto his victim. Soft, choking cries came from underneath the body. A small hand waved feebly in the air. I stalked to the bed, shoving the soldier aside and blinked, there broken and bloody, lay a child, no more than twelve. My hand went to my gun, wanting to shoot the bastard, even though he was dead. Then, I saw his face for the first time. He looked about fourteen years old. Children. They're destroying our children.
"T-Tommy used to be my f-friend. T-then he went away and came back different," the girl whispered. She stared at the boy, trying to see her friend in the monster's body.
I shouted for her parents. They wailed when they saw their daughter, then even louder when they saw the dead soldier. I had a lesson to teach and they had one to learn, so they could warn their friends and neighbors.
"Shut up!" Their shocked faces turned pale. I'm sure they wondered if they'd replaced one horror for another. I couldn't tell them that I was the good guy, because in all honesty, I wasn't. I wasn't here to save them; yeah, I had saved their daughter. But, it was more for me than for her. Didn't mean that I couldn't give a little free advice along the way, especially if it thumbed a nose in WMC's (Walsh, Military & Council) faces.
"The people that leave for military training won't come back the same. Don't trust them; they aren't the people that you used to know, they've changed. They're Super Soldiers now. Did you invite him into your house, or did he just walk in?"
"I invited him," the father admitted.
"Never invite anyone associated with the military inside after dark, especially if there's only one or two. Ask them to come back tomorrow, turn on the front lights in fact, get those bright floodlights that come on whenever anyone steps on your porch. If they need you for something, they won't come at night, and they won't send one person. Tell your friends to lock their doors and windows. Don't get caught out at night."
The girl looked at me with large, doe eyes wide with scarred innocence. "Won't you be there to stop them, like you did tonight?"
"No." I turned to leave the room, stopping when she called after me.
Her voice whispered against my sensitive ears. "Why?"
I smelled her tears and fear in the air. My eyes closed, shutting out the remembered scent. "I won't be here that long. The ones that get in my way will pay; the others aren't my concern. You'll have to learn to stand and fight. Read your history, go to the library, check out a book. Revolution created America. Small groups gathering together to fight for what's right. I can't, I won't fight your battles for you. I have my own war to wage."
She called after me, asking my name. I didn't stop, just walked away, the same way everyone that mattered in my life had done to me. It was a lesson she needed to learn; don't depend on others to rescue you. You only had yourself. Wasn't that what that strange little demon told me when I was supposed to kill Angelus? That seemed a thousand years ago, rather than a mere eight.
Angelus, he hadn't crossed my mind since I left Sunnydale for my bright, white Hell. I remembered reading that he prided himself on his torture techniques. The soldier lay limp over my shoulder as I faded into the night. I carried him through the streets up to City Hall's steps. Propping him against a column, I tore open his uniform, baring his smooth, childish chest. The skin glowed pale in the moonlight, reminding me of days long gone. A malicious smile crossed my lips as I slashed two diagonal strokes across that unblemished skin. There it stood in bright Technicolor, my symbol, my warning call that the war had begun. No one would understand it until it was too late. That suited me fine. I would enjoy watching their faces when they realized that a ghost had destroyed their lovely world, as they lay dying.
I enjoyed leading my double life in Van Nuys. No one associated the shy, soft-spoken Librarian with the crazed killer striking out at the country and leaving bodies in 'his' wake. I kept my hair long, almost to my tail bone, and in a carefully upswept bun, without a single stray hair. It added years to my face, along with the carefully applied gray streaks. Tinted glasses washed my blue eyes out, turning them a dull, lifeless grey. Carefully, applying makeup and slowly adding body padding over time, I had a comfortable middle-aged body, with shy smile lines and crow's feet about my mouth and eyes.
Everybody knew me, thanks to Emma, and never had a bad word to say. I was a hard worker and the City Council was happy when I agreed to step into her large shoes. I was a known someone that everyone ignored; you know, a person seen everyday that did their job and went about their business, so no one really noticed them, unless they weren't there. Please, don't look so confused. It's as simple as this. The postman delivered your mail every day between noon and one. Put it in the box and drove away. Simple, yes? Precisely. Would you know if a different postman delivered the mail? If he wore a tie, or perhaps put something other than mail into the box along with the mail, or instead of it? That was my role in Van Nuys. I admired Emma more at that moment than ever before. She had used her invisibility to her own advantage. No one ever wondered why she asked strange questions on such varied topics. She was the Librarian, and that was what they did. No matter how much you've learned there's always a new lesson, some small kernel of knowledge waiting for you to uncover it.
Slowly, my quiet haven started to buzz. It amused me to watch the older men bluster about the old days, only to shut up when someone quickly pointed out that the old days had resulted in the present mess. History books became particularly popular, especially those on revolution and civil rights. I saw the young girl I had rescued a few times. She checked out books on Malcolm X and Andrew Jackson. A strange mix, but who am I to judge? Eventually, the people became fewer, until only those dedicated to change remained. I never interfered or offered any help, just found what they were looking for and answered any direct questions.
You might question my actions. Why didn't I recruit them, aid them, set them on the path they needed to help change things? I guess it came down to two simple matters. They stand clear in my mind even now. You can't make a person see through your eyes, unless they step into your shoes. Simply put, they had only woken up to a very small part of the cancer that had infected their world. I had lived it, breathed it, hell in a very real way I had even given birth to it. Through the rape and torture of my body, the subsequent abominations became possible.
Second, and most important in my mind, this fight was mine. I wanted vengeance. I had earned it with every scream, slice, electrical shock, bullet, fist, club, slap, kick, bite, gouge, drug, death and revival. Nothing was getting in my way or stopping me. I wouldn't allow it. Call me a bitch, hard-hearted, ruthless or psychotic, I really didn't care.
I'm the result created from circumstances beyond my control. Now, those same circumstances would bend to my will to strike down my enemies. That my actions could free the people from an oppressive rule, should they take the baton that I threw down, didn't matter to me. My world shattered eight years ago, dissolving into ashes that scattered on the wind. That there would even be a world after I finished never entered my thoughts. All that mattered to me was Vengeance, and Vengeance I intended to have.
My nightly exploits spread out in a random pattern that would create a unique design upon its completion. A masterpiece that took painstaking detail to apply each brush stroke for maximum effect.
Forgive me, for I have forgotten an important detail. While I described what had happened in Van Nuys and similar small towns across the country, the United States, it looked strange as I wrote it down on paper. I wondered why they kept the name. For you see, it no longer consisted of fifty united states. A Civil War? No. I asked that when I read about my lost years. The Powers, cute, huh? By that, I mean the two Super Powers of the US and Britain joined into a Devil's own contract, only with each other. Oh, they used all the politically correct jargon, two great countries with such a colorful past coming back together to unite in an effort to perpetuate world peace. Gag me, no, literally someone gag me before I shout at the insanity that a country like America would fall for. I mean puhlease. What happened to all those conspiracy guys that were always protesting and throwing rotten eggs? What happened to the kick ass reporters that used to uncover the truth and print it, not just who's sleeping with whom and that that person's new baby isn't their spouse's? I actually saw news coverage where grown women wore tiaras and bowed in the streets when the royal family came here to sign the treaty. What were these people thinking? Did they actually think that with enough money that they could suddenly become, oh, I don't know, dukes and duchesses? The damned royal family didn't even get to keep their own crowns, the idiots. The mighty Parliament (read Council puppets here) packed them up and sent them to the country, only allowing them out whenever they needed to take the focus off themselves. All that British propriety, you know, must make things look good, even when you're raping the country and killing children, pip, pip and jolly ho.
Back on this side of the water, the Powers decided that the United States no longer needed fifty states. It made more sense to have larger areas under one governing entity's control. They took a large marker and divided the country into four regions. A Regent ran each one with the helpful assistance provided by his or her very own Watcher. The Powers in their wisdom also insisted that a Council conditioned magic user be on hand for anything that an elite guard of super soldiers couldn't handle. Only a user cleared by the Council could perform magic. The Supernatural was the Council's area of expertise, while finding ways to enhance, recreate and manipulate them belonged deep within the evil workings of Maggie Walsh's brilliantly corrupted mind.
The Regions consisted of California, Washington, Georgia and New York. California stretched down to Baja, then up and across to where Texas met Louisiana's border, then up to Kansas, before shooting straight across all the way to Nevada. Los Angeles was the only choice for the regional capitol. Washington started at the state's outermost borders, running along the border it shared with Canada, skirting the Great Lakes to take in Minnesota and Wisconsin, and then it literally cut Illinois in half before moving across to capture Iowa and not ending until it hit Oregon's outermost border. Its Regent decided to keep the capitol in Seattle. Georgia represented the South in all its faded glory. It stretched from Florida to Louisiana, from Louisiana straight up to Missouri, before journeying across the lush countryside on its way to North Carolina's shoreline. Savannah, Georgia sat comfortably center stage, like the southern belle it was. New York encompassed the remaining states, running from Michigan to Indiana, and then curving down through Kentucky, on to Virginia before sweeping up all the way to the very tip of Maine. New Yorkers believed they were better than everyone else was, so it came as no surprise that they moved their regional capitol to Washington DC. Why should they waste all that real estate?
Back to that matter at hand, I purchased a motorcycle, a quiet little beauty that blended with the night; we were perfect for each other. When I hunted in Van Nuys, I wore a cape with a deep hood, careful to keep my face hidden. Venturing beyond my safe zone, I had to leave it behind.
The two slash marks left across my enemies chests became my calling card. News and political leaders said it stood for vindictive, virulent, well you get the gist. Activists said it was for victory over suppression. That always got a smile from me. Simply put, V was for Vengeance. That was what I had become. I was the living, breathing embodiment of the word, and all the connotations associated with it.
I had spent the past two years carefully laying down the groundwork needed to bring my plan to fruition. More importantly, the players would step onto a specially designed field, not realizing there weren't any pawns available for them to sacrifice. The first moves had played out while they reveled in their stolen power. They had to step onto the field of battle and fight, actually get their hands dirty, rather than hide in their castles. There were rooks, knights, castles and bishops. Maggie was ,of course, the Black Queen. She could be nothing less. The most important piece on the board was the king. Funny, that the US had allowed an Englishman more power than any other American and they didn't even know it. Quinton Travers, Head of the Watchers' Council, the Black King, the man behind the curtain, the Wizard, almighty Oz, the grand Puppetmaster, for him I had special plans.
Looking at the board, I had no other color to take but the white. Funny, I used to consider myself a white hat. Now, I'm only the White Queen on my checkered board when compared against the black. But, then again, don't all things pale in comparison?
It was time. The age of technology had far surpassed my wildest dreams. Willow, one of the conspirators, had a hacker's skill in those two short years I knew her, if I ever truly did. Remember, the friends that Emma introduced me to? They taught me what I needed to know from varied areas across multiple technologies, from the simplicity of riding a motorcycle to how a satellite works. I absorbed everything they taught me; eagerly taking it in, and after mastering a specific task, going back to a list written long ago in a bright, white cell to work on the next one. Yes, I had planned this war even then, knowing that somehow, someday I'd escape.
Carefully, using weekends, vacations, sick days and holidays, my nightly hunting ventured further out into the Regions. I even visited Merry Ole, but I get ahead of myself. The 'V' maniac struck terror across the nation. Security points covered every major highway and byway. It was rather ironic that for all their manpower, they never thought to protect the back roads or railways. Supertrains far surpassed air traffic, saving the environment by running on a mix of solar and electrical power. Interesting that with the diabolical cunning associated with the dreaded V, the killer was definitely a male who drove his own car.
Sometimes, I wondered how the mighty Powers ever got so far. Their choices were, in a nutshell, stupid. Maybe I saw it because I not only lived it, but I stood outside looking in at the end result. The world hadn't noticed the gradual changes until it was too late. That was the only reasonable explanation that came to mind. Of course, I paint my face and wage war on the people who tortured me.
Never underestimate your opponent. If you see an old woman, don't believe it until you're holding her false teeth in your hand, and perhaps not even then.
Like I said, few people earned my trust. What did I do on my fun-filled journeys you ask? Did I run around in a cape, like some Dracula poser? No, though in some way that suited me as well as the mask I chose. Mask? Did I fall over the edge into insanity? I'm not sure if I fell, am continuing to fall, or am as sane as you; what person truly does? My actions and thoughts made perfect sense to me, as did my mask. But, then wouldn't an insane person have said the same?
Looking into the mirror, I understood the mask for what it was. I had painted my face a solid, deathly white through which my brilliant blue eyes shone, clear and hard. From my hairline, two black diagonal lines slashed downward to join at my chin dissecting eyes, cheeks and lips. I wore a death mask that warned of my intent. Let my enemy run or stand and fight; no quarter given, none taken.
Emma's small home, which had kept me safe, hidden from my enemies, exploded as I rode away from Van Nuys. The powerful motorcycle ate up the road as it took me toward my first stop - Texas.
You might wonder why I went to the Lone Star State. That was easy. Texas with its wide-open spaces was perfect for shipping. It used to ship oil from the Gulf of Mexico, along with numerous other products. It now shipped the mighty drug, along with well-trained soldiers. Yep, you guessed it. Super Soldiers had to come to the US for processing.; that was, if other countries intended to control their toy soldiers. The US controlled the drug's processing and shipping, along with the chip, which no one else knew how to implant. Maggie had carefully guarded her secrets, much to Quinton's displeasure.
As I mentioned before, several castles, knights and rooks would sacrifice their positions to keep the King and Queen protected. I planned to see how long it would take before the players understood what game they played and their opponent's identity. Just remember, one must always hit the timer to let the other player know that the clock was running.
Houston was a bustling city. Its huge bridges took you wherever you wanted to go in minutes. The railway system was a thing of beauty. Parking my bike outside the city limits, I caught a city railway that connected to every main hub across the large metropolis. I got off and on, then did it again, ensuring that no one followed me as the target drew closer. I'm sure you're wondering if I did this while wearing my death mask. Of course not, silly, I changed my appearance each time I changed trains. The change was so gradual that no one watching would associate the people with each other, not to mention that their destinations varied as much as their looks.
A small, blonde girl with pigtails, snapping her gum while she bobbled her head to music only she could hear headed up town. No doubt she was out for a night of dancing at an under eighteen club. She bounced around the rail car, catching everyone's attention with her antics and joy for life. Once seeing her bright smile, not many people would forget her. Thirty minutes later and several stations over, a buxom redhead climbed aboard the train. The tight dress that resembled more of a second skin than actual clothing didn't go unnoticed by any male over the age of twelve, perhaps younger. Several female eyes narrowed, while a few dilated with interest. The redhead sat quietly, despite her outlandish attire. She crossed well-toned legs, which gave the already pensive audience even more to stare at. The short dress hadn't appeared as if it could get any shorter, but it defied gravity and slid up those toned legs a few more centimeters. She let out a deep sigh, bringing other assets to the attentive audience's attention. Lush breasts, begging for their freedom, fought against the overly tight bodice. The train stopped and several men reluctantly got off at their stop, while others contemplated staying on just to watch the show. The redhead rode toward the downtown area, turning before exiting the car and giving the remaining passengers a soft smile that didn't reach her eyes.
No one could figure out if the strange creature that got on the train was male or female. They saw a face painted entirely white, which stood out even more from the stark blackness of the long hair that hung beside it. Children asked parents what it was, and they were hard pressed to answer. The he/she sat on the floor, raising even more eyebrows and closed its eyes. It hummed softly under its breath until it heard its stop called, then quietly left the way it had come. Only a few passengers remained on the train headed for the Industrial District. No one seemed to take note that an old woman boarded the train headed out to a fairly deserted area so late at night. The woman walked with a cane, hunched over where her face was hard to make out, as she slowly made her way to her seat.
With the technological advances achieved during the last eight years, people quit doing anything manually. I'd even go so far as to say that they'd forgotten how. The entire world depended on an automatic environment. How the world turned around in such a short amount of time, I'm not sure. Sometimes, I wondered if I had fallen into a time warp. It didn't make sense to me, but there you had it. It did make my job easier. People had grown lazy. Even Maggie's beloved military, gasp; even the Super Soldiers, weren't above this slovenly behavior. If someone heard an alarm, they didn't investigate it that would take work. They ran a full system diagnosis and waited until the system determined if it was a false alarm, a true problem, or a system malfunction. Pretty sweet deal, huh? Can you imagine creating a country where the people were too damn lazy to check for an intruder?
Moving away from the streetlights, I stood upright, tapped the cane on the ground, watching it lengthen to twelve feet. They didn't bother to guard the area heavily, since no one believed that anyone had the fortitude to go against a military owned facility. Once again, that worked fine for me. I pushed a button on the cane's side, releasing pegs hidden inside, which created a usable ladder. After hooking it to the fence, I climbed up, switched the ladder over, ready for a hasty retreat, then easily jumped down. I waited, listening for any sign that my entrance had alerted anyone to my presence. After several long moments and no signs of alarmed soldiers, I determined that the coast was clear.
My first objective was to plant explosives on the large containment tanks standing in the yard. Then, I went after the ships, waiting innocently in the channel to transport the drugs, soldiers, or numerous other lovely toys created by Maggie and her crew to the world at large. According to my Intel, the ships got loaded at night the day before shipping and the human cargo boarded in the morning. I had about three hours to take care of business before everything had to go bye-bye, or guts and glory would be more than a saying, it would be a reality. The ships proved a little more time consuming that I had planned, but it worked out eventually.
It just meant that I wouldn't have as much time as I wanted to play, but there would be time for that later. Oh well, them's the breaks. I felt great satisfaction when I broke the glass with my elbow. Sometimes a little violence just gave a girl the tingles, you know what I mean? Well, you probably don't, just take my word for it. The main office layout was a normal grid, nothing like the lab's warren. Alarms blared, but as I had explained earlier, no one came. I had at least ten more minutes before the diagnostics were completed. I would reach my goal in two.
I quietly entered the office of a ferret-faced man. His name was Snyder, although most people referred to him as the Principal. Irony at its finest. The man lived and breathed rules. He ruled over this complex with a maniacal need for order, ensuring that no one escaped the smallest punishment for any perceived infraction. His eyes widened with shock when he saw me standing in his office. I was across the room before he could reach for the phone.
"Leave here at once. You have no business here. I insist that you answer me," he screamed.
Pulling my sword, I pressed it against his throat and leaned close to his ear. "Give my regards to the Devil."
The sword slid soundlessly into his skin, cutting off his protests. It continued its journey through his clothes in a diagonal arc down, then up again. Time was running out, so I left the office as quietly as I had entered it. Moving quickly down the hallway, I exited the building before the allotted time had expired. I climbed back over the fence, flipped a switch and disappeared into the night. The explosions rocked the area. Aerial pictures remarked on the burned down design left against the ground. A large V lay over the complete industrial compound. The only area not totally destroyed was the comptroller's office. It had miraculously remained intact, leading to the macabre discovery of the Principal's body. It was left with the usual calling card; what made this one different was that it was pinned to the wall with a note - The beginning of the end.
My motorcycle lay just where I had left it. I climbed on, speeding off toward my next location. The main goal was Atlanta, but since a person should always take in the scenery around them, I took it upon myself to make several stops along the way.
The homes of large investors mysteriously exploded in New Orleans. Mere hours later, the President and CEO for an electronics company that manufactured parts for the chips lay dead in their offices. Each had large Vs slashed across their chests. The V killer theories ran rampant. Late breaking news reported that V was a highly organized terrorist cell and that the single killer theory was only used by authorities in an effort to capture him/them. I rather liked that one. I was an entire cell, much better than a single man in a car, putting about the country.
Here I sat in First Class as the Super train approached Atlanta. I had packed the motorcycle away in its travel case. Technology had certain advantages, I will admit in this case I liked it very much. My bike folded down completely until it fit into a traveler's trunk, pretty cool, huh? I caught my reflection in the window and had to wonder at times, which one of all the personas I played was the real one, the me underneath? Perhaps I'll never know. Perhaps the answer will come to me at the end of my journey, for now it doesn't matter. I would be the devil himself if it proved necessary. I had to admit this one wasn't half-bad.
I'm a successful businesswoman in my late 20s, early 30s with red hair that I'm not afraid to wear long and straight. My glasses accent the deep brown eyes, along with the small scattering of freckles across my nose. I've acquired a buxom chest , thanks to this new generation's Victoria's Secrets, and the clothes I'm wearing were nothing less than chic. I was the epitome of power and sex rolled into a package that spoke of dark fantasy and forbidden desire. Men and women watched me walk by, a bold one tried to advance, stopping with a dark look from me. They stepped aside providing me the room I demanded to exit the traveling car. I started to step through the exit, then cast a glance back at an attractive man. I didn't say a word , just continued on my way. I knew that he would search for me, which was exactly what I intended.
A limousine waited for me at the station while I made arrangements for my cargo. I'm sure that you're wondering where the money came from right? Remember those questions that Librarians can ask that no one seemed to mind answering? Well, turned out that they provided quite a bit of insight into the way the world was going. Emma put her money into the right places and taught me how to do the same; not to mention, did you know that vampires and demons kept safety deposit boxes? It took some time and learning how to work around the system, but I figured that since I killed the Master I should rightfully inherit whatever treasure he hid, seemed logical to me. I came prepared to wage my war. One thing that no one had to teach me was how expensive it was to go to war. I knew how many stakes, arrows, clothes and bandages I went through while slaying. Figuring in my head that I was about to take that number to about the, oh say, twelfth degree, I started learning from Emma and her friends how to acquire money any way I could - legal or illegal.
My hand rested on my briefcase. Tomorrow I had an appointment with the Regent to discuss a merger between a California based company and one here in Georgia. Such matters were normally negotiated through the Regent's aides, but I had signed papers from California's Regent - Dr. Maggie Walsh.
I checked into a hotel that sat directly across from the Regency Building. It was a grandiose affair, built in the architectural style of an old southern plantation. I had requested a room on the top floor, which happened to align with the Regent's living quarters.
It was interesting how safe the power mongers felt in their castles. Never doubting their place in the world, they had helped to create, no matter the cost. Not once did they seem to fear retribution for their deeds; they were confident in their power and themselves. Even now, with the Super Soldiers deaths rising uncontrollably, bombs exploding across the country, high-powered cohorts dying gruesomely; they went on unphased.
After tonight, they had no other choice but to wake up and smell the blood.