Our wall of muscle held back the over excited crowd as we worked our way toward the news building. We smiled and waved, even blew several kisses, like the fabulous celebrities they thought we were, but because of the tight schedule, we didn't stop to sign autographs.
The show's production assistant was waiting for us at the door. She was an interesting mix of contradictions. Her body hummed with pent up energy. Strangely enough, she sparingly dished out her words as if she received only so many per day. I believe her words to us were as follows. "Hello, Sarah Peters." She shook our hands. "Makeup's waiting. Follow me." She pivoted around with dressage precision then marched off down the hallway. We had to quicken our pace to keep up with her, and we topped her smaller frame by roughly ten inches, with our high heels. And, doing anything more than that slinky model walk was not easy, let me tell you. The added coordination I got as a Slayer perk helped, but I had no idea how Stasha accomplished that miraculous feat. If she used magic, I didn't feel it.
We stepped off the elevator straight into bedlam. Sarah dodged the people who were running around like the place was on fire, expecting us obediently to follow her without question, or fear. It was entertaining to watch our bodyguards simple mow down anyone who dared get between them and their objective, namely us. We finally stopped at the area designated for hair and makeup.
The ever stoic assistant turned back to us, pointed me toward the first open chair before she said, "This is Jose." The terse words her version of an introduction to the silver-haired Latino man standing beside the chair. He wore the latest fashion with ease, and his smile lit his entire face. She waved Stasha toward the adjacent chair where an elegant black man stood wearing a dress and heels, with the most gorgeous legs I'd ever seen. Women would kill to have them. "Meet Sean." Sarah looked at her watch then back at the two makeup artists. "Twenty minutes." She turned around hustling off, and was immediately lost amid the chaos and mayhem that was the studio.
I glanced over at Stasha who was already chatting animatedly with Sean. Jose was staring at my hair then back at me through the mirror as if I had discovered Miss Clairol's secret formula. He reached out to touch my white blonde hair with a child's curiosity. I fought to keep the smile on my face and the temptation to roll my eyes at bay. His fingers brushed against my hair for the briefest moments before he snapped back to reality. He stepped forward to grab several of his magic instruments and eyed me with artistic precision, contemplating how to improve on near perfection. Soft brushes danced across my cheeks followed closely by tender taps against my lips.
"All done, gorgeous," he said as I opened my eyes.
Leaning forward in the chair, I admired Jose's deft handiwork. He had accented my cheekbones, surprisingly enough by adding muted dull pinks to their high points along with creamy peach tones into their shadows. The same colors, along with golden shimmers darkened my eyes from aquamarine to azure. It was subtle but startling in its effect.
"Wow, who needs contacts with you around," I gushed excitedly. "You'll have to teach me how to do that. Perhaps, you could come to lunch one day?"
My offer hung in the air between us as Sarah appeared right on schedule. We exchanged air kisses with Jose and Sean, before following the frenetic assistant to our next destination. She stopped just out of camera range and we hustled up close behind her.
Sarah turned to us and in a heavy whisper announced, "Intro from the anchor desk, followed by the lead-in, your intro's next, then you're on. Rest's up to you." She sent us what passed for a smile before leaving us with the soft sound of her low heels echoing in our ears.
"Wasn't that special? We must have caused her to overspend today's word account," I softly whispered in Stasha's ear. She muffled her giggle when the soundman sent us several dirty looks.
He signaled the intro music as they displayed the channel logo. Suddenly, the stage went black. Frightened by the unexpected loss of power, pandemonium ensued as people screamed and bumped about in the dark. Power returned as quickly as it had left - in an instant. It had everyone blinking to diffuse the spots from their vision. They ended up blinking several more times, closing their eyes, and even shaking their heads to clear it in hopes to return their viewing picture to normal. Nothing helped. Adjusting the setting was not going to fix the picture.
Sitting behind the anchor desk was not the distinguished news anchor the nation invited into their homes each evening. No. Far from it. In his stead sat the stuff of nightmares, well, according to the propaganda released by the Powers. The stark white face framed by midnight black hair with the piercing blue eyes and bold bars of black slashed across the surprisingly feminine face of none other than the notorious V.
How could this be? Who was this person who could boldly take over the airwaves right under the Regent's nose? In her own city? I could practically hear their questions slam into me, from across the room; hell, even through the damn airwaves. It's show time. Time to shoot for all the marbles.
Please, accept my apology for interrupting this evening's entertainment. I understand how excited you are to hear from our exotic guests, and promise to get you back to the scheduled program as quickly as possible. Keeping that promise in mind let me get directly to the heart of the issue. I come before you today to tell you - the truth. You may have trouble recognizing it and for this, I can only say two simple words - wake up. Wake up to what is happening around you, to what is happening to your family, your neighbors, your towns and cities, and unfortunately, our once great nation.
Yes, I am that dastardly villain of the voracious and vicious deeds. The one of dubious repute banded about, and no doubt blamed for every failing or misdeed from the lack of rain to the latest rise in taxes by the all-knowing and supposed benevolent Powers. Ooh, I can hear the shock reverberating through the television even as I speak the words. I know, I know. You thought me bigger, taller perhaps of the male persuasion. As you can see, the Powers lied. NO! Say it isn't so. That those Masters of Fate, the Leaders of Liberty who protected us from the Monsters could in anyway hide the truth from you is preposterous. I know you want to rush to your TV or radio at this moment! To snap it off in righteous anger at my audacity. But, you won't. And, why won't you? Because if nothing else, you're curious, and deep down where your conscience has long slept these many years, there is a faint whisper telling you that I speak the truth.
Five years ago, you learned that things 'do' go bump in the night, the Bogeyman lives down the street from you and the Big Bad Wolf is lurking in the shadows of not just the woods, but every dark alley. Rather than facing it like adults, what did you do? (Slaps hand down on the desk) What do you do? Like the spoiled children you have become, you handed over not only your rights but also your children to the Powers in exchange for their promise to keep you safe from the monsters. You never stopped to question their need for your children. And those children, what place could children play on the supernatural battleground? Did you ask? Did you care? Did you never wonder about the ones who never came home? Where are they? Why haven't they returned? Isn't the wonderful nirvana they have forced us to live daily safe for them to return to? What became of them, those children you just gave away? Did anyone ever stop to question what constitutes a Super Soldier? Are those powerful auto-tons, perhaps the children you left in the Powers' tender care? My time is short. I'm sure those very tots are no doubt pounding at the door to drag me away for daring to speak out. Yet, I ask you when did we as a nation lose our voice?
You once had the freedom to think and speak as you saw fit. Now, you hide in your homes, not only afraid to speak but to even look at your neighbor, let alone speak to them. You fear the shadows; you fear the day, and you fear each other. Your fear controls every second of your life. You even go to bed at night and wonder if you dare trust the person sleeping next to you. How much more are you willing to take? Can you continue to live daily with cruelty and injustice...intolerance and oppression...and constant fear?
I know why you're afraid. Who wouldn't be? Your fears are justified. Horrors straight out of nightmares were real. Not only were they real, but they could be anywhere and everywhere. No science fiction novel or blockbuster movie could possibly recreate this real life horror. The monsters were stronger, faster and now had no reason to hide as they had done for millennia. What were we, the humans, to them, except food or slaves? Fear overcame your reason. It's natural that you looked to your leaders to protect you, to save you. They promised to do just that by taking measures that would temporarily preempt your civil rights. You happily consented. Willing to do anything to take away the fear. But, in reality, you exchanged one fear for another. Only this one does not intend to go anywhere, a nightmare that walks freely day or night. Remember a government's role is to represent the people not control them.
I must bid you good evening. But, I leave you with this thought. Should you yearn for better days, for the truth in all its horrific beauty. Be brave. Be bold. Step up and out. Evil and villainy cannot flourish where brave people dare to shine the light of truth and justice. Take back what you so foolishly gave away, as our forefathers did before us.
Tonight begins the Memorial Day Weekend celebrations. I think it woefully ironic that our illustrious leaders should still acknowledge this holiday and those brave souls who fought and died for the very liberties we no longer enjoy. Well, I plan to honor their memory and stand for what they believed, fought and died for. I Plan To Simply Stand Up For America (stood up from behind the desk and walked around to stare into the camera).
If you care to join me, I'll be standing on the Capitol steps. When, you ask? At the Witching Hour, of course. What do we have to fear? Why must we hide behind our doors? NO! I say turn on your lights, throw open your doors, walk outside, mingle with your neighbors, walk down your streets then march down those streets and join me at midnight Sunday to ring in Memorial Day.
Goodnight, my fellow Americans, for that's what you are, what you've forgotten amid this mockery of what they call civil organization. We are Americans, not Regional citizens, not pawns to move about as they will it - we are the red, the white and the blue. Don't Tread On Me is our standard. And some people in high places have forgotten that. It is time to remind them of that. So, STAND UP!
The dead air signal replaced the broadcast in televisions across the globe as once again the studio went dark. Screams filled the air accompanied by the sounds of a struggle. Equipment clattered to the hard cement floor. Lights exploded as they hit the ground giving the entire experience the added movie theatrics effects. It ended with the soft echo of a door closing.
Light once again flooded into the studio. It seemed to have signaled some strange distress signal. Super Soldiers led by none other than the Regent's own military commander, Commander General Riley Finn, entered just as the spots had cleared from everyone's eyes. They fanned out with all the military precision imprinted on their tiny micro-chipped brains. Their warfare trained mindset telling them to identify and disable any perceived threat.
The studio employees, from the technicians to the anchors, everyone, went to their knees, locking their hands behind their heads. One of the light crewmembers didn't assume "the position" fast enough to satisfy the SS closest to him. It earned him the standard treatment, two quick blows to the head with the butt of the electro-charged guns, which were standard issue for every SS. Once the poor fellow was down, he received several hundred volts of electricity to ensure he understood his place. It also served as a wonderful reminder to the others of what waited for them if they didn't act accordingly. When his body stopped shaking, he promptly lost the contents of his stomach and bladder. The soldier roughly helped him into the proper position where he shakily placed his hands behind his head.
This position, as you can imagine, proved the perfect form for many activities. Maggie Walsh, though diabolically insane, was brilliant when it came to psychological warfare. She trained her troops to use every situation to their advantage. The prisoner's vulnerable areas were within striking distance - head, face and chest. Dominance quickly assumed, held and enforced while forcing prisoners to look up. The captive feels overwhelmed by reducing their physical space and forcing them to look up at those with power over them.
"Who's in charge here?" Riley Finn's demanding question filled the stifling air.
A dark head snapped up as the answer rang out with the sweet contralto, identifying its owner was that of the feminine persuasion.
"I am."
The voice's owner placed one arm in the air and waited. Whispers immediately broke out. It wasn't from the shock about who had spoken or even, funnily enough the situation. It was from, of all things, the way the speaker was waiting for Commander Finn to come help her to her feet. Her hand remained elegantly bent at the wrist as she patiently waited for his response. It could belong to any fair maiden from tomes long destroyed, visiting dignitaries, or - LA's own CiCi.
Commander Finn didn't disappoint as he played his part as the anti-hero. He marched over to the still crouching news anchor took her offered hand none too gently as he "assisted" her to her feet. CiCi unphased by his manly posturing, smoothed her designer outfit back into place. She gave him her best friendly face-of-the-people expressions as she started to speak. Her brows furrowed downward as did her smile when he rudely halted her by practically shoving his rather stubby hand in her face.
"Report soldier," he barked at the SS that had led the team responsible for clearing the building.
The soldier saluted smartly as he stood ramrod straight. "Sir, we lost the subversive. Upon exiting the building via the roof stairs, a supposed female hostage tried to avert our attention from the subversive. We took her down with extreme prejudice. The subversive escaped during the altercation."
A loud anguished scream pierced the air, turning everyone's attention to one of the still crouching "witnesses."
CiCi tried to intervene when Riley motioned for the reporting SS to retrieve the screamer. Finn's cold eyes leveled on CiCi. She returned his glacial stare with the unflinching chutzpa that had won her the co-anchor seat.
"You will speak when I give you leave to do so." That stubby hand rose once more, causing dark eyes to narrow and consider biting. "I know who you are, and how important you think that makes you." He stepped closer, invading her personal space, enjoying the way she fought not to step away from him. Riley leaned closer, thinking he was safe from anyone overhearing. "It doesn't mean squat to me. You're just another skirt climbing her way to the top the only way she knows how - on your back." His smile grew feral when he heard her sharp intake of breath. "Sure you look good on camera, and ask the right questions. Don't fool yourself for one minute that you aren't saying and doing exactly what we want. When your run is over, Madam Regent has already promised me first choice. Of course, what's mine, I share equally with my command. Can't have jealousy among the ranks." His stubby fingers reached out to "caress" her cheek. The maniacal laugh that filtered from his lips chilled not only his intended victim, but those still crouched on the floor. Riley's phone rang cutting his questioning short. The ring tone sounded out with "Hail to the Chief" announcing none other than Maggie Walsh. Pretentious much?
I'm sure you're wondering how I know what's happening when it's obvious that I'm not in the room. Please, patience, patience, dear ones, I will reveal all. Let me just say now, not all was what it seemed, and did you really think I'd miss the after-show? For now, simply sit back and watch the pretty fireworks.
It was rather amusing to watch Riley Finn snap to attention as he responded to the voice reprimanding him over the phone. "Ma'am, yes Ma'am...No Ma'am, I was not aware...Yes Ma'am, we'll ensure the situation returns to normal A.S.A.P...Yes Ma'am..."
His voice trailed off as his shoulders slumped and he couldn't stop the reactive wince from whatever he had just heard. Reality must have snapped him back into place when he noticed all eyes focused on him, especially the dark brown ones belonging to CiCi. Riley's back went ramrod straight as the mask the world recognized fell back into place. His cold blue eyes raked across the room, daring anyone to comment on what they had just witnessed. No one uttered a sound. Though she didn't say anything, Cici's eyes sparkled with glee at the arrogant man's discomfort.
"What are you looking at?" he snapped.
"Nothing," she replied. "Absolutely, nothing."
"Bi..." Riley started forward with a growl before he remembered what he had learned from the one-sided conversation. He stopped abruptly and turned to address the SS squad. "Gather the witnesses; we'll take them to the Capitol, where Madam Regent's own medical staff will clear them before we get their statements. Perhaps someone saw or heard something that could help us catch the subversive V." He walked over to CiCi and offered her his arm. "Allow me to escort you personally, ma'am."
CiCi's eyebrow arched slightly before she laid her hand on the proffered arm. "Why thank you, Commander Finn, you're always such a gentleman." She presented him with one of her famous smiles before she threw out her parting salvo. "Oh, I couldn't leave my guest, Stasha." CiCi extended her free hand, wiggling her fingers toward the woman still restrained by the SS's tender ministrations.
The chords in Riley Finn's neck stood out, clearly showing he was not amused at this turn of events. With no other options left to him, Riley nodded to the SS to free the "witness."
Stasha rushed to CiCi's side. The two women brushed fingertips in the brief handshake of universal sisterhood and solidarity. The sleek model smoothly moved on to slide her long, lush body next to the military commander. She wrapped an arm around his, pressing that impressive chest against him even as she looked down at him.
Soldiers spread out like ants. Each studio worker had their own personal escort. Others searched the area with an intensity that made it clear to anyone watching, and oh, there were so many of us watching, they were looking for something specific.
Okay, I'll put you out of your misery and give you a tiny hint about what Maggie's hounds were trying to sniff out. Remember how I told you the Powers put their eggs in one basket regarding the Washington Compound. Well, they were only slightly smarter for their closed loops systems, like say - TV stations, jails, or the Capitol. A person wanting access to any of those systems physically had to enter the building housing the targeted system. They not only had to enter the building, they had to be within twenty feet of the system to gain access, and that was only if they had already hacked the satellite feeds or power access that controlled the system. When Vinka and Stasha's manager called about the uninterrupted interview with none other than CiCi, I almost stripped naked to dance in the moonlight with glee.
What Maggie called to scream at her boy, Riley, about was that he was still on TV. Yes, I am a very naughty girl. The TV signal did go dead after my broadcast, and the dead air target screen went out to everyone across the country. It stayed that way for exactly five minutes while I used "Vinka" as my hostage in my hasty escape. The signal went live again broadcasting from not only the studio but the stairwell and roof. Oh yes, I wouldn't want to deny "the people" their front row seat the SS's part in Vinka's execution. It couldn't have gone better if I would have planned it myself, and I didn't have to do anything, well not really. Her crime, nothing except not being the target they wanted or expected. You see the SS who reported back lied because V, or rather, I was long gone, and "Vinka" was hiding in the stairwell when the SS found her.
The hits kept on coming with "The Riley Finn" show as he played at beating his chest in a manly way. America and the rest of the world watched him bully their darling CiCi. It witnessed his heartless reaction to the loss of the glorious Vinka. I could already hear the booing, weeping, fist waving and wonderfully enough, the tempers starting to rise at the horrible affront.
I was waiting for Sir Lance-a-not to escort them from the building. Oh, not as V or Vinka, poor dear was leaving in a body bag. No, I stood there wearing nondescript clothing with mousy hair, blending into the crowd of onlookers who stood behind the ever-growing group of reporters and paparazzi. The murmur started low, just a sigh escaping from underneath my breath. The man next to me heard and repeated it. It circulated through the crowd like wild fire, until each person chanted it with increasing conviction.
Cameras photographed and recorded the procession led by the Regent's 2IC. Super Soldiers, bringing up the rear, started toward the loudly chanting crowd when they stopped, and quickly returned to formation. If it had called unwanted attention my way, I would have laughed long and loud. What a bitter taste it must cause them to play the concerned heroes. They were fools, the lot of them, to think they had dominated and cowed an entire nation - no, planet.
Even wild animal trainers knew never to forget that the animals they had trained from birth and worked with each day were still underneath - wild, though somewhat tamed, or domesticated. It wasn't unusual for wild animals raised in captivity to maul and in rare instances even kill its trainer. It only took the right trigger or the wrong misstep for the house of cards to come tumbling down. Maggie and Travers, with their Super Soldier armies, and the psychological and physical buffer they created along with their high intellect had caused them to fall prey to the age-old trap: they bought their own propaganda. They thought themselves untouchable, or even indestructible. No one would dare to test their strengths. The only enemy they recognized was each other. These two didn't ever consider the other world powers as playing in their league. No one else could match their power or had their resources, not to mention the others all relied on them in order to keep their own powers since their entire infrastructure time relied on Super Soldiers and the medications that controlled them. Maggie and Travers spent their energy looking left or right, and never bothered looking down, or even back. More the fool, but who am I to complain.
Their short sightedness will be their downfall, because it had allowed my defiance to rise up in their midst and plan for this day and the days ahead. The days to come will unfold an Armageddon unlike any other. I plan to rain down chaos on their head until they question whether the Earth stilled revolved around the Sun. Then and only then would the real fun to begin. Ah, here comes my beautiful Stasha. Send in the clowns.
"Where are you taking Stasha?" a reporter shouted.
I watched Riley's jaw clench as he attempted to hold onto that nasty temper of his. "We're taking her and the rest of the crew to Capitol. Madam Regent's personal medical staff is standing by to exam them for injuries. She wanted to ensure the subversive V," he spat the name, "hadn't harmed them." He grimaced at the cameras in a facsimile of a smile.
The crowd changed its chant as if it were taking direction. (Insert evil grin here) I can't help myself when things fall into place without having to push them along the way. "Stasha...Stasha...Stasha"
Another reporter found his voice. "Is she going to be free to leave or will she receive the same treatment as her cousin." He was careful to stay to the back of the crowd while keeping his face shadowed.
Seeing an opportunity for her career and personal safety, CiCi shook off Riley's hand and stepped closer to the reporters. Her mega-watt smile was only flashing bright and full. "It's no secret that I'm close friends with Madam Regent and have interviewed her on several occasions. I know Madam Walsh cares deeply about citizen welfare." She paused then smiled gently into the cameras. "I'm sure that she will have no qualms allowing my camera crew full access to the capitol while we are there for questioning about today's events. I'm willing to allow my statement to air with full disclosure to the world without legal representation."
Right on target, Riley's phone rang. Hail to the Chief filled the air one more. "Ma'am, yes Ma'am" resounded as everyone stilled to await Madam Walsh's pleasure. Commander Finn snapped his phone shut none too gently as he tried valiantly to ignore the curious crowd. He motioned several soldiers, who promptly grabbed their studio workers and started to drag them across the short distance. Another motion from the irritated Commander had them softening their grips.
Riley turned to CiCi and said through gritted teeth. "Madam Regent extends her invitation to you and your crew for the duration of the questioning. She even extends it through the holidays, fearing V may consider targeting you in some type retaliatory measure. You are all invited as her guests." He turned to include the entire group. "She thinks it's a brilliant idea to allow not only the nation but the world to see the inner workings of the Capitol. Come." He held his arm out to her once more. "Your crew will be allowed to gather their equipment and follow us in the next vehicle."
I stayed to watch him hustle Stasha and CiCi into the armor-plated car with its personal driver that announced his arrival everywhere he went. They drove away in a hailstorm of flashing light.
I melted into the crowd with ease as it started to disperse, and then disappeared like smoke. There was much to do before my next big scene. First, I had to get back to the Hyperion and set things up for the live feeds. Oh, technology and magic had come a long way baby.
It was only within the last year or so that an undocumented witch had bridged the two together. Magic was at its heart an elemental phenomenon, meant to expound on the user's magical core and beliefs along with those of nature. Technology held at its base the laws of science - gravity, ones and zeroes, currents, diodes, logic, numbers, facts and hard reason. Many thought one negated the other. Oh, but there were several gifted hackers, Willow included, who used magic to break into through 'unbreakable' codes. But the magic didn't affect the technology per se; it merely opened the user's mind to paths they wouldn't have traveled without the magical hack.
This wonderfully gifted witch had unlocked the treasure box between the two worlds. She stepped away from the preconceived ideas of either definition, redefined them then married them together along her new common thread. I only have one thing to say; thank goodness and every deity known to humankind, she's on our side.
She had ignored the bits and bytes, the chants and charms, realizing that it all boiled down to one simple thing - energy. Internal, external, yours, natures, computers, atomic, wind, water, the bits and pieces all came together to create the same thing. Energy to change or impact another person or object, which result in an expected end product. She had found that common thread, her 'ah hah' moment, and rewove science and magic into a tapestry of her own design. It had but one flaw, one drawback. Well, I guess it depended on your view. Intent. The intent of the user, the intended target and the original intent of the magic and technology used all came into play. It was a fine balancing act whose final answer had to equal zero. Balance. It always came back to balance.
It had taken me a long time before I realized my job as the Slayer wasn't to win the war against evil. It was to maintain the status quo. Somehow, vampires, demon and Slayers, oh my, got dragged into Mother Nature' boiling pot. We became part of the entirety, players in the circle of life. It was only when some Big Bad threatened the herd that extreme measures came into play. And should one of my sister Slayers excel just a tad too much at her chosen calling; well, she would find Death 'knock knock knocking' on her door. It wasn't until the Council started interfering with the natural progression that a Slayer's lifespan shrank until it had become almost nonexistence. Slayers replaced each other almost on a yearly. One that survived for more than two years was considered legendary.
I found it rather ironic that I had survived as many years as I have. Though I had divorced myself from anything to do with my title, I found it humorous that I held the title of longest living Slayer. Well, that was if you ignored the times I've died, or been considered technically dead. But, since no one saw fit to allow me the comfort of eternal rest, I figured those times didn't count, kinda still breathing here. So, here's to the still current and reigning champion - me. Roaring crowds, confetti and balloons falling from the ceiling and the deep baritone voice over announcing, "Tell her what she won, Bob!" That recognizable game show voice announced, "Buffy Summers, Anne, otherwise known as V, you've won - zippo. That's right young lady. Nada. Nothing. Zilch. The big old donut hole. And now, back to you, Dick."